


Take A Hike (and Preferably, Get Lost in the Woods and Don't Come Back)

by orphan_account



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Attempt at Humor, Cameos, Campfires, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone Thinks They're Together, Hate to Love, Hiking, M/M, Minor Injuries, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rule 12 - Never Date a Co-Worker, Swimming, Wilderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25184308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Minseok’s not sure what to expect during his fourth year of working as a glorified summer babysitter alongside the world’s worst human being, Jongdae.His life must be a sick joke though, because he's just so completely and utterly done with his current outcome; one that involves putting up with an idiot all day under the hot sun...and then being tormented with the hassle of carrying the very same bumbling, accident-prone fool out of the deep woods post nasty fall.Oh, the trials and tribulations of being a camp counselor. How wonderful.
Relationships: Kim Jongdae | Chen/Kim Minseok | Xiumin
Comments: 22
Kudos: 119
Collections: Round 4: Spring and Summer





	Take A Hike (and Preferably, Get Lost in the Woods and Don't Come Back)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for EXOSeasonal Round 4!
> 
> Blossom: #165  
> Summer Camp counselors go hiking with their group, Jongdae complains about it the whole time though and ends up tripping, resulting in a sprained ankle and being carried by Minseok back to camp.
> 
> A/N: I GOT CARRIED AWAY WITH THIS and it was way too much fun to write, even if I have no confidence this is actually what you were looking for! All the possibilities! 
> 
> The last time I went to an overnight camp was fifth grade (and then somehow, my stupid self decided to return to the unmentionable location as a counselor for day camp). I don't know if it shows but both were very jarring experiences which I tried hard to forget about because LITTLE CHILDREN. 
> 
> So, I'll take any responsibility for grave errors regarding the setting. I can say ziplines are very cursed and spiders that come out of the woods are probably on steroids because they look at least six times bigger than normal ones. 
> 
> CHAD SPIDER. 
> 
> Anyways, I must stop myself here, but if I haven't off-put you, please have fun reading! I hope you enjoy, share my enthusiasm for the characters and don't cringe too much!

“I think key lime is better than lemon meringue, but both are worse than pumpkin. Pumpkin is better than blueberry, though, but cherry is the best. Pecan too. But still, I do think peach is the queen of all pies, and you literally cannot fight me on this. I know it’s a summer dish, but you simply can’t live without having it every month of the year, at least. And with ice cream too! Almost orgasmic...really."

He’s zoning out again, listening to Wendy ramble on and on about the perils of choosing the ideal Thanksgiving dinner, even though Thanksgiving’s a third of the year away. She usually makes sense, but doesn’t at times when she’s excited, and this is one of them. Minseok’s never been a big fan of holidays apart from Halloween, and the occasional New Year’s, preferring to give his thanks in the form of sitting at home catatonically in mid-November, wrapped up on the couch like a burrito in his wool throws, rewatching old reruns of Gossip Girl.

It’s Joy’s turn to pretend to listen another co-worker’s enthusiastic declaration again, and she does a good job of acting it up, placing her hands under her chin and nodding with each syllable, faking her understanding on why in the world anyone would want to make pie crusts out of saltines meant for birds to eat.

“I mean, I usually use cornflakes for my pies,” she ends up interjecting ever-so politely, clipping off the end of Wendy’s passionate speech, “and they turn out fine. But then again I ran out of them once, so I used Cheez-Its since they were the same color. Nobody really noticed the salty tang, or whatever it was.”

It’s his fourth year at Camp Reve; he’s already too experienced to be coming to an orientation dinner. Minseok pretends he doesn’t enjoy meeting up with the fellow counselors, saying he’s only there for free catering to anyone’s face that’ll listen, but it’s getting harder every annual gathering, considering he genuinely likes the company of friends he only gets to see for one season out of the year.

He can’t help it. His life’s fulfillment is at this seedy little camp, herding rambunctious, petulant, but frustratingly endearing kids around. It’s the only time in the year he’s not poring over textbooks, stuck in a lab chipping away at the remaining years of study on his never-ending PhD.

There’s a black and white to everything, and to be fair, there is quite a lot to hate here, possibly including the ground’s own cabins. They’re squat, and sparsely furnished, colourfully painted shacks named after the co-owners, twins Junmyeon and Joohyun’s favourite summer fruits. Additionally, Minseok’s not the biggest fan of the mosquito swarms that seem to be commonplace, but he gets along well with everything else, if not merely tolerating it. He’s taken to calling the stupid bugs ‘little vampires’.

He’s used to the dreadful bed springs that jut out of the cabin mattresses in the middle of the night, and the eerie whispering that comes out of the site’s surrounding woods, which Seulgi insists is Bigfoot, backing up her outlandish claim with the absurdly large footprints in the sand near the beach as tangible proof (obviously not Bigfoot, just Chanyeol’s shoes, but he doesn’t have the heart, nor the will to tell her at this point).

Minseok puts his heart and soul into this job; not like he gets adequately rewarded for it. In fact, it’s more like a sick punishment, considering his fellow counselor assignment this year is Jongdae.

Jongdae. For the fourth damn time.

Reading the list tacked to the camp office’s communal billboard almost reduced him to angry tears, which were promptly sucked in, not like he’d ever cry in front of Yeri. The poor girl’s already scared to shit about wild bears and coyotes, on top of this being her first year leading a group camp. A group camp of demonlike three year olds, at that, adding insult to injury.

Turns out, Junmyeon can’t give anyone a break.

If Minseok had to be completely, truly honest with himself, he doesn’t even hate Jongdae. It’s just, the particular counselor makes himself so blatantly punchable with his antics. Why should he be expected to tolerate someone who still makes armpit farts at the tender age of twenty-five? Minseok shouldn’t; the only acceptable answer to a question he doesn’t think he should be asking.

He tried his best to be pals with the infuriating fellow, to ignore and deflect, to put differences aside the first summer, but it’s impossible to get through to that thick head under a mop of unruly dark hair that never seems to avoid having leaves stuck in it. At least Minseok can say he made an effort. After the ‘incident’, it’s part of Junmyeon and Joohyun’s plan to sandwich the two of them together for every activity, with the purpose of conflict resolution, and overcoming differences.

It’s not working.

They’re simply too different to ever get along...Jongdae’s infuriatingly messy, loud, whines nonstop like a broken record and thinks it’s okay to wear flip flops with tube socks to go canoeing. To add to the extensive list, he still insists on wearing a dinosaur onesie to sleep every night, which Minseok’s opinions diverge between problematic and adorable.

Jongdae also makes a point of existing solely to annoy him.

Which means, evidently, showing up late to every dinner, like it's expected that the entire staff of the camp wait on him.

Minseok’s designated archenemy arrives a whole fifteen minutes after the formal start of festivities, pretending like the county bus hasn’t just dropped him off two minutes ago at the foot of the camp, and the redness in his face is from artfully applied blush instead of running while out of shape while dragging a suitcase behind him.

He barges in on Wendy and Joy still fighting about whether cat kibble can be properly shaped into a tart crust, and casually slides into a seat, knowing better than to ask questions as he strips his jacket, revealing an obnoxious concert t-shirt with a date that happened before he was born.

“Did I miss anything?” Jongdae asks. Joy passes him a glass of ice water.

“Are those the Butthole Surfers? I love the Butthole Surfers,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

Minseok heaves. “No, you didn’t miss anything.”

“I missed you though.”

At least Minseok has the good grace to pinken at that. “You’re late,” he points out, saying it with derision. It’s exhausting, keeping up with a rivalry like this.

“Fashionably late.” Jongdae mimes flipping hair over his shoulder, and Wendy cringes in good sense.

“There’s nothing fashionable about being late,” she chides, wagging a stiff finger in his face.

Jongdae leans forwards, pretending to bite it off. “If nothing good happened while I was gone, I might as well not have gone in the first place. That’s all that counts,” he spouts, laying a hand on his chest as if it gives him any more of the class he painfully lacks.

Minseok can’t argue with that, despite the eye roll he elicits, just because he can’t ever let Jongdae know that he’s right about any individual thing. It’s unusually slow tonight. As Chanyeol and Baekhyun pick at the buffet spread in the center of the hall, piling meat slop onto their plates, Yeri pretends not to scoop extra icing from a different slice of cake to add to her own.

The welcome speech, a vaguely uninspiring string of words thanking the employees and wishing them a good summer, is due to start any minute. Crumpled script in hand, Joohyun fiddles with the mic on the stage that faces the back of the dining hall, currently draped with velvet curtains on either side; the kind with gauche tassels that probably hasn’t been cleaned since her old man was the one who ran the place.

Jongdae looks around. His hands hover over the table before seizing a strawberry from Wendy’s plate and popping it in his mouth, much to her disgust.

“I poisoned that, you know,” she says sarcastically, pulling her dinner away to shield it from hungry hands.

“I don’t care.”

“That’s not very good. In a life or death situation, not to offend, but in a horror movie, you’d probably be the first to go...just saying.”

“That’s if Jongdae’s not the horror himself,” Minseok chimes in, remembering why he hates him when Jongdae fires back a snarky smile, waggling straight brows so lecherously at him that he wants to throw up.

* * *

They’re out to meet the new campers next morning. Despite not sleeping well, a totally unrelated product of being a light snoozer, coupled with Jongdae’s habit of acting out his dreams (including every little bit of dialogue), Minseok drags himself out of Cabin Grape at the crack of dawn, down to the communal washroom for refreshment.

He quickly finds out Zitao’s there too, gargling mouthwash out of a mug.

“Morning,” he says, nodding to Minseok in the mirror as he stalks around in a bathrobe. Showers feel better at camp, somehow. Maybe it’s the luxury of plumbing, contrasted with the stark wilderness that makes him sigh when the water hits his skin, steam travelling up and out of the curtained stall. He towels off five minutes later, pulling his uniform; the designated pink tee and fanny pack, a grave fashion crime of the highest severity.

Chanyeol’s already outside, when Minseok joins in to help with registration setup, heaving tables from the recreation room to in front of the parking lot with Sehun’s assistance, under the eye of Junmyeon. Jongin and Kyungsoo are on step stools, stringing welcome banners between the width of two trees. Renjun, the camp’s most valuable player, barks nearby, tied to a post as Joohyun passes, a bucket of forms in her hand. She drops a treat into the excited dog’s mouth, ruffling its fur endearingly.

“Who’s a good boy?” she asks, bending down to coo. When Seulgi arrives, she unwinds the leash, Renjun’s collar in her hand as she chases him around the courtyard, laughing and out of breath.

Forms are passed out, two rows neatly detailing campers’ names, allergies and special conditions in Joohyun’s delicate handwriting. Minseok stares at his. They run a camp of eight to ten year olds, possibly the best, and worst age group for him to be involved in, but someone has to bear the duty of offsetting Jongdae’s questionable influence on easily impressionable kids.

Wiping a trickle of sweat from his forehead, he joins a cluster of counselors under the shade of a sprawling fir, squishing in beside Han, whom he wishes were his co-counselor every other day, instead of Jongdae.

They smile at each other, and Han says, “It’s hot as balls here.”

“Major balls,” Minseok replies. “If you’re into balls, of course.”

“Oh, up to a certain extent I am.” Melting in the hot sun, bug spray and sweat sticking to his skin like a thawing popsicle, the last thing Minseok needs to see is Han eyeing Sehun, the barely legal heartthrob, like a piece of meat.

From the distance, Jongdae looks like an ant as he climbs down the covered porch of the cabin, disheveled and frazzled. This time, Han’s the one quick to point out the disgust in Minseok’s eyes as he watches his co-counselor conveniently arrive when all the heavy lifting is done, only for a barely mad Junmyeon, completely unfazed by Jongdae’s tardiness, to assign him paperwork alongside Yifan (who oversleeps on a daily basis and probably has a mild case of narcolepsy, but everyone’s too scared of him to intervene).

By noon, they’re all spent, nothing left to do but wait for the string of cars to snake up the road, depositing campers and luggage alike. They do come eventually, a swarm of them at once flooding Joohyun as she tries to contain the growing crowd, armed with a whistle and a spoon to eat her pudding with (always essential, according to her).

It’s like herding cats made of jelly. There’s bound to be a few strayaways who don’t listen no matter what, those who even when told to go right, they verge left.

Haseul, a return from last year, excitedly hops up to Minseok, demanding a hug. He picks the girl up, giving her a squeeze and a tight spin around, completely unfazed that Jongdae has the nerve to laugh at him for spreading a little joy in a kid’s life.

“You’re my favourite!” Haseul exclaims excitedly, as she’s dragged off in the direction of the registration till by her mother. “I like you better than Counselor Jongdae!”

The taunting comment makes Jongdae sulk for the rest of the afternoon, so much so that Minseok actually considers comforting him as they roll call the campers over lunch. There’s ten of them this year, evenly split between boys and girls.

He learns their names fast. Nayeon, Jeongyeon and Jihyo; the trio of girls, always fighting and stuck together like glue; Haseul, thankfully, and her reluctant best friend, mousy pink-haired Vivi with a quiet voice; Jisung, whom good portion of the day holding Minseok’s hand as they walk to the hall to collect the campers’ packs, and hear Joohyun’s speech where she rattles off a list of rules; Taeil and Doyoung, who listen more than they talk; and Yuta and WinWin, who do the opposite.

* * *

Perhaps a year away from him has made Minseok forget how infuriatingly good with kids Jongdae is. It’s only the second day, and he’s beginning to win over a good portion of them, whom he secretly calls his ‘gremlin army’.

It’s unacceptable. Minseok consoles himself with the fact that most of Jongdae’s charm and appeal comes from acting like a dumb kid himself.

They’re spread out on the lawn, even if they’re supposed to be playing frisbees according to the day’s schedule. The plastic discs are somewhere; they had to stop after Taeil tossed one into the breeze, and it veered off the side of the cliff, plopping into the lake water.

“Hey,” Jongdae says, scooting beside him to where he’s sitting on the grass.

Minseok doesn’t even bother; he has one hand in Nayeon’s hair, pulling it into a fancy french plait, while the other busies itself playing cards with Jihyo, beating her so many times at GoFish he relents to holding his cards at a stupidly low angle, letting her cheat.

“Hey. Minseok?”

“Counselor, the other Counselor is waving to you,” Jihyo informs him. “Also, do you have a Queen of Spades?”

He sighs, sliding the card over, before craning his neck. “What do you want, Jongdae?”

The responding laughter is raucous. “Nothing. Do you like sweets? You like chocolate, right? Just wanted your opinion on my hot chocolate.” Wordlessly, Jongdae procures a mug out of nowhere, smiling naively.

Minseok can’t believe it. “Nobody drinks hot chocolate in the summer,” he says, binding a jeweled elastic to finish off Nayeon’s braid. She hugs his side, before running off to join Jeongyeon, the girl currently occupied with braiding little flower crowns as some of the boys help gather dandelions around her, throwing them into piles at her feet.

“I do. Just try some.”

“It’s a winter drink, Jongdae. You’re hopeless.”

“Oh I know.” He smirks, holding up the cup to Minseok’s face.

“Can I have some?” Jihyo asks, excited.

They’re technically not supposed to share food with campers, but the look in her starry eyes is enough for Minseok to pull a Dixie cup out of his fanny pack and dump out a splash of the steaming brown liquid, praying it’s not hot scat water, because that would be a Jongdae thing to do. He drinks it straight out of the mug, the sweetness slipping down his throat, rich and smooth.

“How does it taste?”

“Alright,” Minseok pretends. Across from him, Jihyo smacks her lips.

“I like it. But I like lemonade better.” When she’s gone, running off to rip wildflowers from the surrounding landscape, Jongdae turns, scooting closer.

“Guess what?” he says, lowering his voice to a whisper.

Minseok prepares his scowl immediately. “You’re not going to collect my saliva to make some sort of weird potion on the night of the full moon, or something like that, right?”

“You’re serious?” Jongdae teases. “Best idea I’ve heard in a century. I could break out the books. Maybe I should...”

“Please don’t,” Minseok groans.

“I’ll look into it. But by the way, did you really like the hot chocolate? I can give you the recipe if you want.”

“You look awfully happy to do that.”

“Oh, I am,” Jongdae laughs, throwing his head back. “Yeri promised me she’d pay me a hundred dollars at dinner if I could mix mayonnaise and a melted chocolate bar together and get someone to drink it.”

* * *

He’s sure that if Jongdae could be a little less...well, like Jongdae, they’d have no problem getting along just as well as Seulgi and Wendy, the camp’s employees of the year for the third year in a row. But alas, that won’t be happening soon, not even in the unlimited expanses of his dreams.

They join up with the six-to-eight counselors, Baekhyun and Kyungsoo, for bird watching. Only one of them looks enthusiastic about it, Kyungsoo bounding around the deep woods with a tattered manual in hand, excitedly showing the kids inconspicuous markings on the trunk of a tree that has something to do with a woodpecker, supposedly.

“It’s the only time I’ve seen him be this happy,” Baekhyun says. Minseok joins him where he’s standing, observing from a safe distance away.

“It’s nice that he’s passionate about something at least,” he says to Baekhyun, who raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, that’s true. You’re still, uh, working with Dae over there? Even after the incident?”

The incident. They call it the incident, but there’s really nothing incidental about it all. Minseok wonders if it’s just so bad, just so embarrassing that two years ago, he fell into an outhouse pit after a particularly heated argument when he stormed out of his cabin in the middle of the night, and Jongdae fell after him, that everyone’s been using the euphemism out of secondhand embarrassment, rather than respect for the both of them.

“Not by choice,” Minseok says. “Believe me, I requested Han, and then Yeri.”

“Reasonable,” Baekhyun hums. “Where is he?”

“Probably still holding a pity party for himself after he lost a three-legged race to one of the kids. Four times. And he was on two legs! He's over there right now, fiddling with the binoculars.”

From a different spot in the woods, a string of curses emanates from a thicket of trees. Jongdae emerges into view, taking binoculars to his eyes, pointing the lenses somewhere far off into the distance.

“Ah,” Baekhyun mutters.

“He’s been using them backwards and upside down for the past twenty minutes,” Minseok informs, “but I don’t even want to tell him anymore.”

“That,” Baekhyun manages, smiling slightly. He pats Minseok on the shoulder sympathetically. “That is not good.”

* * *

Usually, Minseok’s overjoyed to be crafting. Today’s the exception, upon finding himself locked in a room, ten children scurrying around with glue and feathers, ten children who just so happen to be hopeless at cutting paper plates, and everything under the sun that’s related to the Pinterest activity in his hands; easy(not as easy as advertised) masquerade masks.

Jongdae’s crouched in the corner, sweeping purple glitter into a dustpan, thankfully sparing him the fruitless task of cleaning up after Vivi’s little spill. Minseok’s affirmative that no matter how hard he cleans, those flakes will probably end up in his shirt, and his bloodstream too, in the matter of a few days.

But he appreciates his efforts nonetheless. Not like he’d be helpful in the artistic aspect anyways. Jongdae himself showcased his ability to create something palatable to the human eye last year, with the folding of origami that look more like regurgitated paper mulch.

Minseok takes a break from stilted contemplation, scurrying over to help Yuta tack rhinestones onto the side of his jagged plate. Across the room, Jeongyeon fiddles with her mask, all the feathers on the brim of the craft falling off and drifting to the ground at once.

“I need glue,” she says.

He’s going to have to search the counter for that one; that plastic cup full of glue he dumped in at the beginning of the morning. Jongdae unfolds himself from the ground, making the trash sparkle like invaluable jewels with the amount of shimmer he dumps into the open can.

“God,” he says, approaching the sink. “I’m thirsty.”

Minseok doesn’t even have time to stop him from drinking the glue, Jongdae’s reasoning being it looks like milk, which doesn’t make sense, because why would milk be in a crafts room in the first place, and Minseok tells him so as he washes his mouth under the stream of water coming out of the faucet.

The kids laugh because it looks icky, the stuff dripping from Jongdae’s mouth as Haseul gets up, being the darling that she is, to hand him a paper towel.

Being the only adults in the room, they both pretend to not know what it really looks like.

* * *

They’re out for water activities for today, and out of all the things Jongdae doesn’t know how to do, such as shutting his mouth or being totally pleasant for a period of more than three minutes, or swimming, perhaps, it gives Minseok a weird, twisted satisfaction that his usually boisterous co-counselor is completely out of his element as they approach the lake.

Yixing and Han’s group is already there, standing on the docks. The water looks blue in a way that’s almost uncanny, and deceptively warm, reflected against the vibrant sky, the sun winking overhead.

“You’re not coming in?” Minseok asks, when Jongdae resigns himself to sitting at the edge of the lake, hanging his head.

“I’ll watch the kids from out here. You know I’m in my element on land, anyways.”

“Yeah right,” Minseok says, but he doesn’t push it further.

It’s not much of a sight anyways. Yixing and Han’s group are absolute beasts, beating two campers out of the water with pool noodles for the right to use a donut floaty, and bullying Vivi until she breaks out into tears and runs out of the lake to go sob some more on Jongdae’s soaked shirt while Minseok puts on his best stern face to go reprimand more kids that he doesn’t know.

His scolding voice is low and smooth; more effective than the lambasting the usually mild-mannered Yixing does, only stopping when the two kids are thoroughly scared, teeth chattering, looking close to tears themselves.

Jongdae’s still waiting on the log, when Minseok passes by deciding he’d rather take a well deserved break. He sits down beside his fellow co-counselor, and asks if he’s bored before remembering that, of course, Jongdae’s not, because his mind is a wild, incomprehensible, astonishing thing that never blinks out, evidenced by the impassioned rant he launches into about Disney’s animated crustaceans a few seconds later, literally scaring Minseok with the sheer force of what he’s created.

“Can you believe the lack of thought and effort they put into the character Tamatoa? It’s like his one personality trait is being lured off by shiny things!” Jongdae rants, his hands doing frenzied motions in the air to go along with an impending comment about Sebastian and the Little Mermaid.

“Sounds an awful lot like Joy, actually.”

They watch the kids splash in the lake from afar, side by side, one of them grabbing Han into the water. The chill of wet clothing brings goosebumps to the surface of Minseok’s skin. Perhaps the shivers crawling up his spine are also a side-effect of Han’s scarily shrill yelling seconds later, unsettling Minseok as he watches the fed-up counselor pull two scuffling boys apart, voice going off at octaves above normal.

“Mark, Donghyuck! Behave yourselves!” Han screams. “Are we really going to play like animals?!”

Two voices squeak “No, sir,” in unison, and Jongdae scrunches up his nose in amusement.

Minseok shakes his head contentedly, limpid water sluicing off strands of damp hair. He sighs in tune when Jongdae starts humming absentmindedly, tapping the log seat underneath him.

Fancy. The Twice song that blares on the radio. He recognizes it. It’s even exceedingly impressive how Jongdae manages to reach Jihyo’s pitch perfect high-note in the bridge.

“Come swim,” Minseok demands after a while.

“No way. Blegh. I’m a proud landlubber.”

“It’ll be fun, Jongdae.” Minseok insists. He pouts for emphasis.

“I literally cannot swim, Minseok, we’ve been over this. The only thing I’m willing to drown in in the near future is cash money, and that doesn’t even look plausible,” Jongdae says, glaring. “I’d rather sit here and watch.”

“Watch what?” Minseok snorts. “Yixing getting pushed into the lake by kids? Wow, what a sight, am I right?” He pauses to smile, and then laughs sardonically.

“I was mostly staring at you the whole time,” Jongdae gripes, running his tongue over his teeth. “I don’t get to see you, wet hair, glistening abs...without a shirt everyday…”

“Fuck off, sleaze.” It takes all of Minseok’s self control to not stick Jongdae’s head in the sand and smother him to death. “Watch what you say! Come into the water just once,” he bargains, “and if you don’t like it, at least you can say you tried it out.”

“This is a ploy to drown me and kill me, isn’t it?”

“Please. Give me more credit than that. I’m resourceful, and I could probably kill you in other ways,” Minseok says, dragging Jongdae over to the shoddy lakeside shack. It takes little effort to pick out a soggy life jacket that smells like putrid seaweed and drape it over his shivering frame, and even less to pull along the mildly resistant counselor, acting like an errant child as he’s manhandled down to the lake.

Jongdae’s pushed to the dock and into the water, where he bobs up and down idly as Minseok hops in beside him, beads of water rolling down his face.

“The kids are laughing at me.”

“I know. Try to swim. Move your arms.”

“I can’t.”

“You have a lifejacket on.”

“That doesn’t mean I can swim! Life jackets only prevent you from drowning! It doesn’t magically make me goddamn Michael Phelps, or some shit!”

“You’re terrible,” Minseok sighs, splashing a bit of water into Jongdae’s eyes, just to savour the sweet look of betrayal that crosses his face as he blinks it out a few seconds later.

“I regret this already.” Jongdae merely peers at him through narrowed slits behind matted eyelashes and Minseok risks getting himself in a tussle by reaching over to slap his arm.

“I do too,” he says, less ridicule in his voice than he’d actually like to convey. He grabs a slippery wrist whilst winking mischievously, and pulls Jongdae out into the open blue.

* * *

For someone who doesn’t know how to move in water, Jongdae sure knows how to move on top of it. It’s their second day out at the lake, and the rowing contest they’ve just been challenged to is slowly becoming the bane of Minseok’s menial existence.

He’s paddling furiously, rocking the boat so hard he’s almost afraid he’ll tip it over and dump both him and Wendy headfirst into the lake. Canoeing isn't Minseok’s forte; far from it actually. It’s made by clear the distance the two other teams have put between their boats versus his own; Baekhyun and Seulgi are slicing through the water at super speed, nearly at the finish line while Jongdae and Yeri trail behind them, both standing up in their frenzy as they row for their lives.

Maybe the outcome would’ve changed had Wendy not accidentally dropped one of the oars into the water near the start line, but Minseok’s not even completely sure of that. Okay, maybe a teensy bit sure.

“I have butterfingers,” Wendy shrugs. She’s trying her best at least, leaning over the edge of the plastic-built craft to scoop water between her cupped hand that she thinks helps more than it actually does to get the boat moving.

“I don’t blame you. These are cheap. Not exactly great.”

“Hey, I’m just letting you know, because by the looks of it,” she juts out her chin, “they’re gonna be all up on us by the time we make it over there. If we even make it there, actually.”

Minseok automatically assumes she’s referring to the scene in the distance, Jongdae jumping up and down, shaking a terrified Yeri in the boat as he trash talks Seulgi, who threatens to beat him to pulp with a raised paddle if he doesn’t shut up sometime in the near future.

“Haha! Losers!” The ‘L’ is drawn out like a teen movie, rolled with derision as Jongdae points accusingly, Seulgi going cross-eyed as she focuses on one rigid finger waving in her face. He stamps his foot into the hull, water lapping against the edges of the precariously balanced canoe. “How does it feel to be second best? Did you see Yeri and I ambush you over there? Wasn’t that awesome?”

“Okay, you won!” Baekhyun screams, covering his ears. “We get it!”

It’s equally terrible and sad that Minseok has to squint to be able to see them in the distance. Wendy looks at him, then down at the canoe. They both relent, sharing a mutual sigh and the boat drifts across the water idly.

It takes a painfully long stretch of time to make it to shore. Even worse is joining the camp groups back together with Yifan and Zitao’s little pack of trolls, and marching all the children to the next pre-planned activity on the schedule; archery, just a short walk away from the lake. On the range, Zitao gives a quick demonstration, making it seem easy, drawing the bow until the arrow smashes into the target, piercing wood like butter.

There’s several close calls throughout the hour with the bucket of arrows they bring out from the storage shack; rusty nails versus people’s eyes.

“You guys can practice by shooting them into the trees first. Make sure to be careful,” Yifan drawls out, moving around to pass out children’s sized bows that look like military grade weapons. Conveniently, Jihyo chooses to start yelling at Nayeon.

If anyone assumes Minseok’s going to intervene with a child when they have a literal rusty spear in their hands; they’re horribly wrong. He’s bravehearted, not careless.

“Everyone,” Zitao says, turning his back, “follow my instructions. We’re going to be practicing shooting on this dummy over here. It’s shaped like a real person, but it’s just a meat sack I took from the kitchen and filled up with straw.”

“A simple sack full of meat,” Yifan echoes, helping Haseul draw her bow. “You can go ahead and shoot. It’s slow, and dumb, and it won’t react no matter what you do.”

On the sidelines, Minseok’s mouth quirks into a half smile. “Jongdae, I think that sounds like you.”

The response his words elicit is a pained whine, and a rough shove. “Shut up.”

They stand out of the way for the children’s archery, but Minseok’s more than eager to get his hands on a bow when Jongdae challenges him to a round, making all the campers join together in a simultaneous ‘oooh’.

“May the best archer win,” Jongdae declares.

Minseok makes sure to pick out the sharpest arrow from the shack, tapping at the shaft and throwing a smirk over his shoulder. “What have you shot for in your life?” he teases. “Probably not even a girl?”

“I’ll shoot you next if you keep saying that!”

* * *

Capture the Flag is an absolute joke. After splitting up the camp into halves, they head off towards opposite sides of the field. Minseok picks and chooses his team strategically, while Jongdae’s tactic seems to be getting every one of his kids sufficiently riled up because apparently people play better when angry. They do things better infuriated, function well in the midst of an all consuming rage.

Minseok doesn’t agree. He’s mostly angry at Jongdae throughout the day, and lately, staring at him has become pretty much distracting instead of productive.

As he unleashes the little beasts off to go play their game, he can’t help but mull the thought over in his head.

There’s a pool of mud on the ground that both teams use to their advantage; Nayeon tripping Jeongyeon into the puddle, while Taeil uses it to defile anyone that stands in the way of him and the goal, a little scarf Jongdae’s hidden in the trees.

Team Minseok ends up winning two to one, but it morphs into practically a loss with the sheer amounts of dirt that’s waiting to be scrubbed off the equipment a few hours later. It’s only justified that after all the running, the kids are too tired to move onto the postponed nature walk.

“Well, we all have to do something instead of lie on the ground all afternoon,” Jongdae tells them listlessly. He reprimands the exhausted children as they lay on the camp green, baking under the sun.

Haseul proposes ghost stories, to an overwhelming chorus of agreement, and Minseok’s not going to fight them if they want to sit down for a few hours and eat somewhere warm. They run the idea by Joohyun, who brightly exclaims how great it’ll be.

They find themselves around a sparkling fire in the evening, the other age groups joining them too, nearly a hundred bodies ogling in equal parts terror and wonder as they listen along. Yeri’s got a flashlight that she uses to illuminate the underside of Junmyeon’s chin as he rambles on and on about made up monsters, obviously a mismatched reiteration of all the horror stories he’s ever heard in his days of boyhood, telling the kids about some vampire, werewolf, headless, slimeball thing that apparently haunts the woods around the camp. He doesn’t even pronounce Frankenstein right, saying it as Florgersten, before being angrily interrupted by Joy, who’s surprisingly anal about her monsters.

It’s the first time Minseok’s seen him outside of the office, and even then, he only escapes the suffocating chamber for the sole reason to flirt with Yixing. Rarely.

On the other side of the campfire circle, the smells of burning wood waft upwards. Sehun’s drinking vodka while doing a miserable job of pretending it’s water, and Joohyun demands a splash in her mug of hot chocolate too. Baekhyun, Chanyeol, and Kyungsoo pass around bags of marshmallows and graham crackers, digging into the small cooler of food situated by Han’s foot.

Minseok has a potato on the end of his stick that he holds out over the fire, slowly turning it in his hand as the flames lap at the surface of his food. Jongdae’s right beside him, their knees knocking together as he chars his hotdog to unediblity, watching the skin of the weiner blacken and blister, all the while insisting it’s simply well-done.

“You’re cremating it,” Minseok groans.

“Hardly. I just don’t want it to be raw.” The comment is followed with a long, judgemental stare. The long judgemental stare is followed with yet another look of disapproval, from both parties involved.

Seulgi throws in another piece of tinder, fanning the flames. A shower of sparks jumps out, startling some of the kids, who wail and howl as embers leap off from the ground, flashing orange and yellow. Minseok suppresses a screech, and looks down.

He doesn’t even realize Jongdae’s gripping his arm for security, until the screams die out. By the way Baekhyun’s looking at him, the pointed glance across the fire, eyes darting across to the place where Jongdae’s resting his white hand, Minseok probably will have to kill him.

He already knows too much.

Fuck.

Instead of dispatching irksome Baekhyun as he is, Minseok settles for an exaggerated fake gag while he assumes everyone else is caught up in the act of s’mores making.

It fails spectacularly, somehow catching the attention of Joy too, who bites her lip, pointing at the negligible amount of space between him and Jongdae, whose head is now rested on Minseok’s shoulder. She blinks, suddenly alert, and springs into her mischievous pout.

“Together?” she mouths.

Minseok pretends not to hear her, wondering if the other option; faking interest in Chanyeol as he begins showing Polaroid pictures of his dog, is any better, if not worse than ignoring her.

“You okay?” Jongdae asks, nudging his arm with the side of his cheek. “I’ll roast you a marshmallow to make you feel better. I know you like those.” Overhearing, Seulgi hands him the bag, plucking it from the dirt ground, and Minseok’s almost touched by how quickly Jongdae gets to work, spearing the marshmallow and twirling the stick over the fire until the white outsides begin to brown.

Joy has a scheming look on her face; never a good look on anyone, but especially her. Pressing her lips together, she retrieves something from her counselor fanny pack, her hand plucking out a pen to scribble something onto it. She taps the kid next to her, long hair falling over her face as she leans down to whisper into the little boy’s ear, simultaneously pressing something into his upturned palm.

The thing; whatever it is, moves sequentially down the circle to Joohyun, pale face looking awfully pallid, and a little tipsy in the illumination of the fire. It stops at her, and she unfurls the object, chuckling for a while before handing it off to a little girl to continue the passing chain.

“I roasted two,” Jongdae says. “You can have the better one. It’s not burnt at least.” He points to the ground by his shoes, gesturing to a horrifically blackened nub laying on the worn grass of the clearing. Minseok takes the still warm stick he’s handed. The spared marshmallow is quite pretty, really, the exterior crisp as he sinks his teeth into gooey goodness.

The object reaches Wendy, who gets up from her spot in a huff, casting ominous shadows over Junmyeon and Yeri’s theatrical storytelling as she walks over, throwing the now very obvious note into Minseok’s lap.

“Here. You might want this.” She dusts graham cracker crumbs off her hands and spins on her heel, stalking off to join Kyungsoo in strumming a little banjo and leading a small procession of kids in campfire songs.

Minseok checks twice to make sure Jongdae’s not looking; he’s not, hunched over the fire instead, occupying himself with turning another hot dog to ashes.

The note has a lewd joke on it; M and J, their initials written in red pen, with a shoddy heart drawn around them. Minseok tosses it into the fire immediately, watching the paper crisp up to black and shrivel in the flames.

Hell’s the only place that belongs.

He takes the hint too, keeping his gaze down for the rest of the night, ignoring snickers from a few other cunning counselors when Jongdae starts eating his hot dog so blatantly in front of the kids that it should be illegal.

It never once crosses Minseok’s mind that his irritating co-counselor might be doing this on purpose.

* * *

It’s a huge error on his part to not bring bug spray on the nature walk. Presently Minseok has practically turned himself into a buffet for all the creepy crawlies in the woods, complete with metaphorical neon signs overhanging his head advertising warm human blood and soft flesh.

There’s no relief whatsoever in the backwoods, and they’ve only been out here for less than an hour, so there’s no turning back. As the kids make trunk rubbings with the bag of crayons in Jongdae’s hand, Minseok hides under a copse, scratching angry red welts across his arms.

“Counselor! Look at my pattern!” Nayeon trembles. She proudly shows him a spattering of colored wax as Minseok pretends he doesn’t want to jump out of his skin and crawl into a bucket of ice before he implodes of sheer itchiness.

“Isn’t it pretty?”

“Looks very pretty!” he manages to get out, giving her a genuine smile.

“Good work, Nayeon!” Minseok hears the underbush rustle, and it’s Jongdae approaching, steering the over enthusiastic girl off to a different patch of the woods by the shoulders. “Why don’t you go try rubbing some leaves? Make sure to pick them off the ground, not rip them off the vegetation, because that might hurt the trees, okay?”

“Ooh! That’s a good idea!”

They’re left alone as she scurries off and Minseok can feel the pity emanating from Jongdae’s sick little pout and sad eyes as he watches him scratch all over.

“You look like a feast,” Jongdae says. “For bugs, that is. Or should I say a snack?”

“Fuck off. What do you want?”

“Oh, I have some bug spray in my pack! Do you want some of it? You look absolutely miserable.” A bottom lip protrudes into an aggravating curl, and the voice that informs Minseok is almost worried.

Minseok sighs in response when his co-counselor’s face morphs into another oddly suggestive look. “I don’t like this,” he says notably.

Jongdae’s brows knot together innocently. “What don’t you like?” he presses, holding the bag open absentmindedly as Taeil runs over to swap a silver crayon for green.

“I don’t like you...well, rather you being nice to me.”

“Well, maybe it’s not about me being nice to you. Maybe I just want to work as a team with my co-counselor instead of griping and fighting with him all the time, because he’s actually a pretty nice person when he’s not angry at me, and I’m practically sick of this petty fighting! Maybe I just want to show Joohyun and Junmyeon that yes, we can do it and be a functional pair. Maybe I want to be employee of the month too! Minseok, have you ever thought about that?” Jongdae yells, voice rising to a crescendo.

The twinge of anger resonates in Minseok’s ears and he scowls. “I know you don’t care about that shit award, at least not more than your ego.”

“Hmph. My offer of bug spray still stands.” Jongdae straightens his back, sniffing haughtily, and Minseok shakes his head at the ground. What does he even have to lose at this point? His dignity? That’s been gone for long now, disappeared into the shit pit the day the incident occured.

“Hit me with the spray then.”

Arms stretched out, the feeling that overcomes him when that sweet chemical mist is spritzed in the air, hitting his skin; it’s so relieving and refreshing that Minseok could practically kiss Jongdae for making it happen.

“Did I get all the spots?”

“Face,” Minseok reminds.

“Minseok, it’s literally toxic to put this on your face. You need to read warning labels better.”

He gets a chuckle out of that. Jongdae, being the one to tell him to be careful. Of all people.

“Just spray it.”

“Fine. Die then.” Jongdae smirks, evidently pleased with his own sarcasm. “But at least close your eyes first, Seok.”

He does, and when they open, Jongdae’s still staring at him, a wonderfully goofy grin on his face as he packs the canister of repellent back into his bag.

“What?” Minseok asks, hands wandering up to his face. “Is there something…” his fingers prod gently at his own mouth, where Jongdae’s gaze is pinned. It’s the look he’s returned, a look that veers too far from the usual ‘I want to punch you’ they’ve exchanged for the past three summers for comfort, and for a split second, Minseok’s heart pounds so fast, he’s scared stiff that Jongdae might actually be able to hear it.

If he can, it’s ignored, as Jongdae turns wordlessly, the trill of his voice permeating the otherwise silent hollow where the kids scatter.

“There’s nothing on your face,” he says, waiting for Minseok to catch up to his pace. His footfalls are light, skipping down the clearing to call after the campers. “Now hurry! We have to keep walking. We’re only done half the activities, and we need to get back to camp in twenty minutes for dinner!”

* * *

“I’m beginning to get scared of Jongdae.”

From the other side of the breakfast bar, Jongin coughs, holding his throat as he chokes down the morsel of pancake in his mouth. Reaching over sympathetically from her little corner of the table, Yeri pats him on the back until he retches it up into a napkin, looking rather green.

“You can’t just drop something like that and leave,” she calls after Minseok as he begins to walk away, figuring he’s overstepped with that unsavoury reaction. Patting the chair next to her, Yeri more so demands, than asks for him to stay.

“Please elaborate,” Jongin croaks, when Minseok’s seated with a cup of coffee in one hand, and a plate of muffins and bacon in front of him. “Please do tell us about your Jongdae troubles.”

“Oh? Do I hear drama?” From out of nowhere, Chanyeol materializes, hovering at the foot of the table excitedly before being invited to join the impromptu morning gathering by Minseok.“I like drama,” he explains. “It’s not always good, but it spices up the life. I mean, the last exciting thing that happened in the camp was when Joohyun got hammered during the Summer Luau and tried to kill any man in her sight, and even though it was kinda thrilling, I spent most of that hiding under a table, so it wasn’t the best.”

“That sounds deep. The first part, at least,” Yeri says, adding her commentary through a bite of Raisin Bran.

Jongin agrees. “We’re all ears, Minseok, and we’d never tell a soul. You might as well spill it all. What you say in the dining center stays at the dining center.”

“Okay. Well…” The words sound a lot better in his head, and Minseok has to pause for a moment to crank them out from his brain to the tip of his tongue. He’s not sure what verbal junk he finally manages to finally piece together in the form of communication, but it’s something along the lines of: “Jongdae’s being decent recently, and it’s really unnerving to see him not try to annoy the shit out of me, to the point where I’m questioning his motives, and almost suspect he’s been replaced by an imposter.”

To which, the spoon in Yeri’s hand drops into her bowl, clanging and spattering milk all over her uniform. As she cleans it off with a napkin, Chanyeol’s sent reeling, the heel of one hand pounding his head silly.

Minseok’s stomach sinks. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Jongin tells him. “It’s just...that’s a very, very, very eccentric thing to say.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually upset Jongdae’s not annoying you?” Yeri adds, gawking. “I mean, that’s an absolute rarity. If I were you, I’d totally be celebrating and jumping up and down right about now.”

“I’m not mad. It’s just weird, is all. It’s so strange to see him be like this, almost like he’s been possessed. He’s been hating me for the past three years, and this summer should be no different,” Minseok defends.

Chanyeol’s mouth twists into a little sneer. “You really believe that? He hates you?”

“Yes,” Minseok says confidently, thinking back to the time Jongdae threw a garter snake in his bedsheets; the same day Minseok found out he was capable of screaming at an astonishingly high frequency. “He’s always being a pest, and straight up going out of his way to be intolerable at times. It’s not even human.” He sweeps a hand across his brow as he eats, describing a few Jongdae happenings in great detail. “He’s a machine with a dial that goes from chaotic to worse.”

There’s silence as the three sitting across him all share a look.

It’s Jongin that places his hand on top of Minseok’s own first, giving it a reassuring, kind squeeze. “I don’t know if you know if I know what I think is going on, but I’m pretty sure even Kyungsoo can see through this, and the lenses on his glasses are thicker than a slice of bread.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sounds like Jongdae’s caught a classic case of feels,” Chanyeol says, attempting a wink.

“That’s impossible. He spites me to my face.”

“People change, Minseok. Actually, maybe they don’t. I can recall seeing seventy separate times I’ve seen Jongdae make these weird-ass heart eyes at you when you weren’t looking. Literally Junmyeon’s denser than a brick when it comes to his own love life, but did you ever stop to question why he was always putting you and Jongdae together?”

The coffee in his hand suddenly tastes extra vile and he sets it down, bitterness coating his mouth. “Sort of,” Minseok says.

Jongin lowers his voice dramatically. “It’s because Jongdae kept begging to be assigned to you so he could get that alone time. I would know...I was there that day in the office to pick up my stuff from last year, and I saw. I swear, Minseok, you were supposed to be running the toddler camps with Han this year, but Jongdae called in advance and basically wailed in the office for hours like a baby until someone agreed to change it. He kept saying that this would be the year he’d finally get you to you know…and then Joohyun threatened him on his word, because I’m assuming, the same thing happened last year, and he didn’t get a chance.”

“Junmyeon’s a total fucking sellout,” Chanyeol grumbles. “Maybe we need to give you some time to absorb all this. You look a little overwhelmed.”

“No, I-” Minseok collects himself, staring down at his lap wryly. “For someone who supposedly wants to get in my pants, he’s doing practically everything he can to stay out of them.”

Yeri shrugs. “Opposites attract right?”

Jongdae, who couldn’t be less like his type, if he had such a thing as a type. Jongdae, with his unruly hair, coquettish grin, and shit personality. Minseok knows he’s about the same color as his Peppa Pig-hued shirt right now, simply thinking about the two of them in that manner.

“I can’t believe you’re actually shocked,” Chanyeol hums. “Like, the whole time, we thought you were just stringing him along, and you had some weird rival kink obsession, or some shit like that.”

“You can’t tell Jongdae we said any of this though,” Jongin says, doing his best threatening gaze that falls flat. “We’ve been keeping this in for years, and you can’t reveal it was me who exposed him. I’m literally so scared, because he said he’d throw hot diarrhea on me if I spilled his secret, okay?”

“I...I won’t.”

Chanyeol cocks a brow. “Anything else you want to know before we leave you to your impending mental breakdown? Minseok?”

“Does the whole camp know about this?” He says it with caution, dropping his gaze to the plate under him to spear a slice of bacon. When he looks back up, Yeri stares at him pitably.

Jongin catches Minseok’s eye. He hesitates for a while before driving the back of his elbow into Chanyeol’s side, and the counselor nearly drops the extensive amount of scrambled egg piled atop his fork in favour of startled screaming.

Minseok clamps hands down on both sides of his head until it’s over. Yeri looks forlornly at her lap.

After some time, when their ears are no longer ringing, Chanyeol says, “Oh, totally. Jongdae’s definitely not the king of subtlety, I can tell you that,” and then laughs at his own statement. “But the ones who don’t know, are the ones who choose not to see. Maybe...that includes you?”

Jongin smiles a smile more nauseous than reassuring while Yeri muses and shakes her head appreciatively at that.

“That one’s super poetic too,” she says, edging from side to side in her seat. “But Minseok? Can I just add my two cents? I haven’t been here long enough to know what the guys are talking about or know about all this icky love stuff, but you know, you two would look good together. You and Jongdae would be the very best camp power couple, I’m sure.”

Minseok flushes the color of a beet. Whether it be anger or humiliation overtaking him as he storms out of the hall, abandoning the rest of his breakfast, he has not a fucking clue.

* * *

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you.”

Jongdae rubs his lips together. “Yes, you are. What did I do wrong, this time?”

Everything, Minseok thinks. “Nothing,” he says. He has one hiking boot on, the other laying flat on the cabin’s ground, and he really needs to learn how to do up the laces faster. Jongdae’s already ready, packed up, a stupid sunhat strapped around his chin as he reads off the daily itinerary for the forest trek they’re supposed to embark on today, the very one they’re already late for.

“You need to get those boots on faster.”

“I’m trying.” Staring down at the half-knotted shoe strings, Minseok finds his hands shaking, and he grits his teeth, hoping to refocus. The eyelets are far too small to thread the chunky laces through, resulting in a scenario of frustrated internal head-bashing that Jongdae seems to understand all too well, crossing his arms and chewing his lip as he waits.

“Let me help,” he eventually offers, crouching down into a squat. One leg flies out, narrowly missing his face.

“I don’t need your help,” Minseok snaps, a little too harshly. Putting his hands up in the air to avoid another close encounter, Jongdae jumps away, flitting around the cabin to gather extra supplies.

He manages to hum two annoying earworm K-pop songs in the window of time it takes for the boots to finally get trussed up, and now Ring Ding Dong is stuck in both of their heads, making the day just that much worse.

“Someone’s a little grumpy today? Should I call you Garfield? It’s Monday too, right?” he coos at Minseok’s back as he walks towards the door, backpack in hand as he climbs down the porch to greet the cluster of campers waiting for them. “What a grumpy kitty cat, yes you are.”

Minseok’s only half relieved that the old Jongdae is back. He hasn’t called him the dreaded nickname in two years. When they’re outside, checking roll call to make sure they haven’t accidentally lost any kids, Jongdae even makes funny faces at him over the children’s heads obnoxiously as he goes down the line, ticking names with boxes beside them.

“You can just do it normally, you know.”

“That wouldn’t be fun, then.” Jongdae twirls the pen in his hand, and then asks him what his problem is.

“Counselor? Don’t be grumpy,” Haseul says, tugging on Minseok’s sleeve. “Do you want a hug? You don’t look happy today!” She wraps her little arms around him anyways, face sticky with sunscreen.

* * *

He’s in a sour mood for half the walk. The frown stays attached to his face as they climb onto the rugged dirt path, snaking up and down rough terrain for a full loop around the camp. It’s exhausting, not to mention the sun beating overhead, adding another layer of warmth to the already hellish dampness on his skin.

Up ahead, Jongdae carves a trail through the woods with his walking stick, a fallen branch he insists is a magical cane, to the enthused belief of a few of the kids, while Minseok makes up the caboose, keeping a watchful eye to make sure nobody’s passed out from the heat.

“The sweat is dripping into my eyes and I can’t see,” Jihyo says. Minseok hands her a towel to dab off her face, and they trudge along for a few more minutes, before Jongdae holds up a delighted finger in the air, exclaiming that there’s only one more painful mile to go before they finally reach campground.

“I feel like I’ve seen that tree before, Counselor,” Vivi says.

“I have the map in my hands, and we’re going the right way, so it’ll all be okay.”

“All these trees look the same to me,” Jisung says, arm outstretched to stroke the rough bark lining a spruce. “I don’t know how you can tell the difference.”

Vivi sniffs. “Well, I have intuition.”

“I don’t know big words like that,” Jisung pouts.

“Intuition is when you can feel something, but you don’t know what it means,” Minseok cuts in, explaining. “It’s like a sixth sense.”

“Oh.” Jisung puts a small finger on his chin and thinks. “Like how I know when my sister’s lying about taking my lunch money even though she did?”

Jongdae wheezes. “Not quite.”

“Then what is it?”

“Intuition is when, when you’re sure of something, and you don’t need to prove it. You just know it, in your heart,” Minseok restates. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jongdae turn, and smile sheepishly at him, before tearing his gaze away.

“I know it in my heart that I’m really tired,” Jeongyeon pipes up, panting.

“Me too!” Nayeon says. “I’m pretty sure I stepped in bear poop too.” She lifts her shoe off the path and points to the green soles of her sneakers. “I want to get back to the cabins soon. It’s too hot!”

“Only half a mile left, darling. I know it seems far, but the camp is just hidden behind the trees. The faster we hike, the faster we can make it there.” Jongdae presses his lips together, before laughing. “I guess, even faster...if...you want to take a shortcut…”

Minseok shoots down the idea immediately. “It’s not safe.”

“I want to take a shortcut!” Haseul says, jumping up and down. “Vivi does too?”

“I do? No I don’t!”

Taeil coughs. “Can we please, Counselor Jongdae? I know Counselor Minseok doesn’t think it’s safe, but we don’t have to listen to him!”

“Yeah!” Nayeon yells, glancing over her shoulder to make eye contact with a bemused Minseok. “Sorry…”

“I guess we’re taking the shortcut then,” Jongdae says giddily. “Majority rules.”

“Majority rules doesn’t make it any safer.”

“The kids have munitied on you, Minseok. It’s too late. You no longer have a say.” Stopping any further protest with a hand held up in the air, Jongdae rolls up the map in his hand. “The quickest path is always the straightest one from a to b, and that’s how we’ll get there.”

“What if we run into a bear?” Jihyo asks, kicking a pebble. It skitters down the path and bounces off the back of Jisung’s shoe.

“There’s many more dangers in the woods than that,” Minseok says, patting her shoulder. Her lip quivers, and he realizes he hasn’t done a good job of reassuring her at all.

“I’ll fight off the bears,” Jongdae says, holding his stick in the air like a sword. He gives it a few experimental thwacks, as the children move to the side of the path at Minseok’s discretion, dodging the exaggerated swings and dirt that picks up from the ground while invisible enemies are vanquished.

Haseul taps Minseok, and he leans down to catch her whispers in his ear. “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,” she says, giggling. “But I think Jongdae would be the giant rat.”

“Respect Splinter,” Doyoung scowls, in tune with Jongdae’s shrill battle cry as he begins mutilating the side of a poor tree that just so happens to be in the range of getting hit. The stick catches on a branch and flies out of his hands, spinning into the air before landing in a patch of shrubbery down below, tumbling down the slope adjacent to the walking trail.

“Oh...shoot.”

* * *

Minseok rolls his eyes. “Jongdae, don’t.”

“I have to go get my stick. It’s my magical stick! I told the kids that it contained some prophecy, and now maybe I’ve gotten attached to a branch, and I want it back for personal, sentimental purposes.”

“Find another stick from the ground! We’re in a freaking forest for a reason!”

“Not the same,” Jongdae says. He taps his foot, head cocked to the side as he thinks, before perking up.

“You totally shouldn’t go,” Vivi shouts, as Jongdae begins to strip his bags, throwing them onto the dirt ground. “It really doesn’t look safe, Counselor.”

Minseok nods vehemently. “If you won’t listen to me, at least listen to the children.”

“I listen to myself.”

“You can’t listen to anything if you die,” Jisung points out.

“I’m resourceful,” Jongdae huffs, as he begins to climb down the slope, overstepping a bramble of thorns. Minseok steps forwards to look, and the sight isn’t promising. A sheer face of rock and dirt awaits the top to the bottom, loosely covered with sparse vegetation and sprawling roots that edge up from the ground, a minefield of tripping hazards. What little plants there are serve to make a hellish bed of green, thistles and raggedy weeds lining the area in scatters.

Only two thirds down can he make out the thin, curved figure of the stick, lying in a patch of thorns. “Be careful,” is the only thing Minseok can say, because he doesn’t even have the resolve to talk Jongdae out of it.

“I will be careful.”

He’s obviously not careful enough. It takes a grand total of eight hesitant steps for Jongdae’s shoelace to get trapped in the spikes of a nearby nettle, sending him tripping over his own feet and tumbling down into the crevasse. His screams of terror as he falls to the very bottom are muffled by Haseul’s own, who runs up to the edge, throat raw as she calls out ‘Counselor’ before breaking out into tears.

* * *

Fuck. Fuck, fuckitty fuck.

Minseok sinks his teeth into his lip until blood comes out. Beside him, Jihyo bursts out into wails immediately, followed by Jisung’s muffled sniffles as he dries his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

Taeil, acting surprisingly rational for a tween, is the first to make any moves whatsoever. Breaking off from the rest of the upset pack, he pokes his head down into the crevasse, and starts shouting.

“Counselor Jongdae? Counselor Jongdae, are you there?! Can you hear me?”

Someone returns a slight, pained groan, and Minseok sets his jaw, his own eyes stinging as he wipes tears off some of the girls, promising them it’ll be okay. Taking in a calm breath, he reaches by his side for his phone, before remembering that he left it in the cabin, and there’s more service in Antarctica than out here anyways, so why bother.

“What if he’s hurt?” Nayeon starts, gulping. “What if he’s dead?”

“Oh, honey. Let’s not start that right now.” Minseok grabs her into a hug, and she whimpers into his shirt.

“I don’t want Counselor Jongdae to die.”

A few hours ago, Minseok couldn’t say the same.

“He’s a really good counselor, and you are too, Counselor Minseok. I’m having a lot of fun this summer, but I’m scared.”

Tears soak through his shirt, and Nayeon breaks away to go sit under a tree with the other crying campers, snatching a tissue from the opened cavity of his fanny pack.

In and out. In and out. Minseok’s breaths rush through his head.

And then he jolts alive.

“Counselor Jongdae?!” Taeil continues, hollering. “Are you hurt? Are you dying? Or are you okay?”

Minseok doesn’t ever expect to be happy at the sound of Jongdae’s voice. He is. He is, when that stupid imbecile croons back softly, indicating that yes, he’s somehow hurt, but still very much living and not going to pass in the near future. He’s so happy he can practically jump over the moon.

First things first. He’s going to save his quaking ass. Minseok will save Jongdae, and rub it in his face afterwards, and chaos will ensue, when Jongdae realizes he’ll never be able to live this down.

“Stay,” Minseok says to the campers, almost like dogs. He has to stop, quelling the shake in his voice.“Stay put, okay? Right here. Don’t move, and sit still until I get back. I’m going down there to go find Jongdae. Please listen to Taeil while I’m gone. Taeil’s in charge.” He goes back to the fallen bags, dragging them to Yuta, who offers to keep watch and do his part in the ensuing ‘rescue mission’ which Minseok doesn’t even try to correct, because it’s true.

Every bone in his body is shaking as he takes the first step down the slope, the campers wishing him luck. He staggers down an inch at a time for a painfully long stretch, breath hitching whenever his leg brushes against something pokey. Whatever inhibition is left in him dissolves as he nears the flat plane of ground at the end of hill, spying a heaving heap on the ground.

Minseok breaks into a run, and drops down, probably skinning his knees to tattered shit. There’s no acknowledgement of his arrival, Jongdae’s head lulled peacefully on the dirt-smooth, eroded ground in the glade. Unblinking. Chest, entire body in limbo, unnervingly still.

“Jongdae? Jongdae!” Minseok hovers over him, wiping the little smear of dirt off his cheek. He doesn’t slap him, even though he’d very much prefer that. “You fucking idiot.” To his horror, he actually gets choked up a little, blinking water from his eyes as he prods, and pokes, and leans his ear against Jongdae’s chest.

“Are you seriously crying over me? That’s cute.”

His heartbeat stops. And then it starts pounding again, shaking his ribcage when Jongdae’s eyes flit open. “You’re a real piece of shit, you know,” Minseok says, wiping his eyes in annoyance.

“Hey, I maybe would’ve done the same for you, if it makes you feel better.”

“You really don’t want to say that to mean when your life is in my hands, you idiot.”

“I know you would’ve missed me, and you know, at least I’m sure you’ll express remorse if I die. Does this mean you actually like me?” Jongdae sits up, wincing.

Minseok blinks, eyes widening when he realizes he’s actually serious. “I’m crying over the end of our rivalry.”

“Yeah, big deal. Now help me get up and get out of here. I seriously don’t think I can walk, either. You leave the kids for more than ten minutes and the world suddenly sets on fire, you know?”

* * *

They try to get Jongdae to stand up normally. It’s a colossal failure, by the way his leg crumples the moment a bit of weight is placed on his foot, sending him face first into the ground a second time, Minseok laughing sadistically before feeling bad and helping him up nonetheless. He vows himself to act as uncooperative and vindictive as possible, but once Jongdae’s stabilized and sitting upright, Minseok finds himself tending to the brat futilely anyways, with a dab of water on a tissue, and more affection than he’s shown for him in a long time.

“You really can’t walk, can you?” Minseok brings himself to ask, voice laced with the barest trickle of distress. He crouches on the ground, blotting blood from a cut on Jongdae’s knee.

“Why the fuck would I be pretending about something like this?” his co-counselor whines back. “I want to get out of here just as fast as you.”

“There’s no way we’re gonna make it up that damn hill if you can’t walk.”

Throwing his head back in laughter, Jongdae snickers breathily. “We’ll just die here, then, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“I would never, ever, spend the last moments of my life with you.” Getting to his feet, Minseok sneers. After he’s finished with bagging the soiled tissue, tainted red and brown, he shakes his head in resignation.“I just knew you were going to be the cause of premature death for me. Because, of course you would.”

From the ground, Jongdae gives him a cheeky grin, saying nothing afterwards.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The smile Jongdae tries to hide is replaced by feigned solemness and Minseok huffs.

“I’ll walk up this hill and leave you down here,” he says.

“You wouldn’t,” Jongdae challenges. “You already love me too much to leave me,” he coos, taking a verbal jab before actually wailing when Minseok turns away, saying “It’s every man for himself.”

It’s this statement that’s later retracted, taken and shoved down Minseok’s throat, because it’s the only way to shut Jongdae up when he launches into a long tangent about loyalty, and never leaving a friend behind. Judging by his eagerness, it’s also a speech he’s been waiting to give for a long time, and it ends with him giving Minseok a drawn out, pointed stare.

“So, are we gonna get going or what?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” Jongdae questions.

“What do you mean, thinking about what? How we’re going to get out of here, of course! It’s not like the other camps will stumble across us and save us. The schedules don’t cross over, and even then, nobody will even find us down here! Do you even see this?”

Minseok looks incredulous, gesturing wordlessly to the obvious and daunting climb that faces them, despite possibly wanting to smash Jongdae’s other leg useless due to his reaction, or rather lack of reaction at their predicament. It takes a few exhales to suppress that urge, while Minseok communicates his aggravation via grumble, and the solution that Jongdae suggests too quickly, and too happily has another one escaping his lips moments later.

“You’re strong, Minseok,” he says, holding his arms out like a child. “I’ve seen it during tug of war. And besides, I mean, there’s really no other way out of here.”

* * *

It’s a tad bit bothersome to trudge uphill with the added weight of a second body on him.

Scratch that.

It’s actually grueling torture, made worse by Jongdae’s complaining that the ride he’s hitching on Minseok’s behalf is too rough; too bumpy, too slow; incessant and exhaustive whining that abruptly stops when Minseok threatens to deposit him in a particularly thorny grove halfway up the slope and walk off.

Oh, how he wishes he had done so.

“I know you wouldn’t do that though,” Jongdae says smugly, and although Minseok can’t exactly see without twisting off his neck, he’s sure his co-counselor looks remarkably self-assured right now. “I hope you’re enjoying this as much as I enjoy being carried.”

“This is actually...what I’d imagine hell to be, so shut your mouth and stop making it worse.” The anger he hopes to convey is severely stilted by the fact he actually has to pant out each word, and then fix Jongdae from sliding halfway down his back.

A mild disaster strikes two thirds up the hill. Minseok’s nose starts itching, contorting his face as he fights of the impulse to scratch upon realization that both his hands are currently occupied; one hooked below the crooks of Jongdae’s knees and the other slung under his co-counselor’s back, nuding up against his shoulder blades through his shirt.

They get over the blunder, with Jongdae offering to scratch for him. Minseok’s too spent by then to even refuse.

Nevertheless, the struggle becomes completely worth it in the end. Jongdae’s still scratching when they reach the top, their arrival cheered loudly by the kids. They wait until Minseok’s footing is at a safe angle to the ground before rushing over to attack with little hugs, not even caring that one counselor is dangling from the arms of another.

“Counselor Jongdae is safe!” Vivi declares, as she comes in for one by Minseok’s side. “I’m so happy you’re okay!”

Nayeon bobs her head up and down, neotonic eyes red and weepy. “We thought you’d be a goner.”

“Hey,” Jongdae says, leaning away from Minseok to ruffle her hair, before retracting his slightly damp hand. “I’m very much alive, but I’m still pretty banged up, so you might want to let up on all the squeezing for a while.” He winces the last words out, as he’s attacked by an awkward torso cuddle from Jisung, parting his little mouth to form a question.

“Is that why Counselor Minseok is carrying you like that?”

“I can’t exactly walk right now, so yeah.”

“Woah,” Doyoung says. “Well, you look like you’ve been through a whole war, Counselor.” He points at Jongdae’s lower half, shins swinging over the support of Minseok’s arms. The campers are quick to comment on how horrendous they look. Jihyo even covers her mouth in a gag.

It’s far from a pleasant sight. Jongdae’s legs are scratched to bits, with welts up and down the length of skin, purple and fuschia bruises marring the defunct limbs, and one ankle swollen angry red, looking almost bulbous. The kids form a crowd around, ogling the injuries like some sort of sick specimen showcase, before Minseok shoos them off to collect their things, reminding everyone helpfully that getting back to camp is first priority.

“Who’s gonna help Counselor Jongdae walk, then?” Yuta asks, as he retrieves his sunhat from the ground.

“He won’t be able to walk, so I’ll have to carry him back to the camp.”

“Then who’s gonna carry the bags, if you’re carrying Jongdae? Will Jongdae carry the bags while you carry him? That seems really heavy!”

Haseul chooses that moment to step in. “When my mommy and stepdaddy got married last winter, my stepdaddy carried my mommy down the wedding aisle, exactly like you’re carrying Counselor Jongdae, Counselor Minseok!” she says proudly.

“Oh, really?” Jongdae croons. “Better not make Counselor Minseok angry with what you’re saying…I mean...”

“Get on the back, Jongdae,” Minseok commands, cutting him off. “Put the bags on too. I’m piggybacking you the rest of the way.”

* * *

Wendy and Seulgi’s group are sitting in the clearing playing cards when they finally arrive, sweaty and disheveled. They try not to make a scene as they peek into the camp, Minseok and Jongdae staying silent with the campers trailing behind them in a line, but inadvertently, the two counselors freak out at the sight of them, leaving their kids to fight over GoFish and rushing over at light speed to attend to what they call a ‘disaster’.

The two women appear so fast, gawking and whispering in horror that it’s like they stepped out of thin air.

“How did this even happen?” Wendy asks, blanching as she takes Jongdae’s arm in her hand. Rolling it over reveals an underside of chafed skin, pink and raw.

“Took a fall. And rolled down a hill full of thorns.”

“Took a fall! You look horrible! We need to get Joohyun right here! Maybe call an ambulance too!”

Seulgi nods vehemently at the same time that Jongdae shakes his head. “You’re not gonna be functional for at least two more days, with those scratches,” she says, completing a full circle to assess the extent of the injuries. “And Minseok, you’re hurt too, by the looks of it.”

“Huh?”

“Did you seriously not notice that? Looks super painful to me!” Gesturing down to his leg, where a trickle of blood flows down from three separate gashes, Seulgi scrunches her nose.

Wendy sighs. “I seriously can’t believe this.”

She breaks into a run across the camp at that, rapping on the door of the office, punctuated by desperate foot stamping, before a head of dark hair peeks out of the entrance, equally confused and annoyed.

* * *

Joohyun’s a woman of few words, who doesn’t say anything unless she really means it. So when she suggests to Minseok that maybe both the counselors should take the rest of the day off, and recuperate in the cabin instead, he doesn’t protest beyond a slight, reasonable question: “What about the kids?”

“I’ll split them up into different camps, and the rest of the counselors can help watch them for as a long as you need.”

Haseul grabs Vivi’s arm. “I’m going with Vivi no matter what. I don’t want to get split up from her.”

“Dear, that can be arranged,” Joohyun sighs, shutting down Minseok’s plea, that he’s not ‘that hurt’. “It’s not about you and how well you feel. It’s about Jongdae, and leaving him alone to fester in a tiny cabin by himself. I’m afraid he’ll go insane without company. You should both tend to your injuries. I left the storeroom open, and you can go grab the first aid kit and some ice.”

Pressing her red lips together, her gaze flicks up and down disapprovingly of the piggybacking arrangement in front of her.

“Hey, I can't exactly walk...” Jongdae starts.

“Get off Minseok’s back, and I’ll help you to your cabin.”

* * *

He browses the shelves in the room. There’s endless mounds of bandages stocked in the corner; Minseok grabs some of those, along with a pair of wooden crutches and Wet Wipes. He fills a bag from Joohyun’s ice machine, tucked away by her desk for safekeeping from Junmyeon and his inevitable experimentation with freezing strange liquids into popsicles; his ice privileges were relinquished with the creation of ‘gravy pops’ two summers ago that looked exceedingly like fudge bars, food-poisoning the entire camp.

Jongdae’s sitting up in the bed by the time the cabin door creaks open, looking disinterestedly at the first aid kit Minseok throws onto the sheets.

“Isn’t this a little excessive?” he asks, when Minseok kneels down at his side.

“Not at all.”

He ices Jongdae’s sprained ankle as he gets to work on the wounds, bandaging and cleaning, and when he’s done, scoots onto the bed himself.

“Do you feel alright?” Minseok asks, leaning over to smooth a lock of hair away from Jongdae’s eyes.

“More than alright.”

“You look like shit, though.”

“I know,” Jongdae laughs, groaning as he leans forwards into a more comfortable position. “And that’s the best part.”

Minseok rolls his eyes. “Tough talk for a guy who can’t even move without hurting himself. Was retrieving that stick really worth it?”

“Oh, totally,” Jongdae huffs, waving a hand like it’s obvious. “I get to spend at least half a week off now, and I get you alone, with me too.”

“I’d rather leave.”

“Like Joohyun would let you. You’re trapped in here with me, and there’s no way out.”

“I'll jump out the window,” Minseok threatens, pointing behind him to the frosted glass fixtures into the wood walls. The afternoon light shines through them, creating the barest sliver of sunshine that illuminates the ground.

Outside, the lively chorus of children permeates the air; Jongdae has the nerve to ruin the moment by saying that the “little shits are in their natural environment again”, and Minseok kicks him harshly, sending him crumpling.

“Ow! That’s like injury number seventy eight!”

“Here I was thinking you wanted to be out of commission for longer.”

“I just want bonding time,” Jongdae shrugs, “with my lovely co-counselor, not to get beaten into human jam. Is that so wrong?”

Minseok wrinkles his nose in distaste. “You should be concerned that I’m the one beating you. Beating you into human jam.”

He moves even closer to him, tucking his legs up from the ground and hugging them to his chest, smoothing down the newly applied bandage on his calf covering the sustained cuts. Jongdae does too, scooting the distance of three painful inches across the twin mattress to bunch up the sheets and then stopping to think about what flavour of jam he’d really be.

They’re five minutes into a conversation about that before Minseok opts out, aghast, refusing to talk to Jongdae after his preposterous imputation that apple jelly is superior to its grape counterpart.

* * *

They lay on the same bed, even though they each have their own, and talk for what feels like hours. It’s not; based on how the smells of dinner, another concoction of soup and saggy meat pies just start trickling through the area after five, which a quick glance at Minseok’s watch confirms. He’s flopped onto the bed, one leg sandwiched between Jongdae, his head tucked by his shoulder and they’re pressed together chastely, just enough for comfort and warmth and ‘cuddles’ which disgust Minseok internally, even though he’s happy to oblige.

He jumps a little when Jongdae props himself up onto his elbows, murmuring something about being hungry and then sniffing the spice-scented air.

“Do you still want to go for dinner?” Minseok asks, prying himself off the complaining counselor below him. He rolls off Jongdae, untangling the two of them, and a grin slips out from his demeanor. If he’s not careful, he might actually admit that the past hour has been enjoyable to say the least, a stark contrast from the headaches spending time with Jongdae usually leaves him.

There’s more stomach rumbling.

“This is better though,” Jongdae replies. “I’d rather starve than move.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, at least I can tell the entire camp over dinner how I managed to get you in bed with me,” Jongdae muses. “Imagine how they’ll feel about that.”

Minseok snorts contentedly. “I still don’t like you.”

“Okay, we’ll take it slow then.”

“There is no we, Jongdae. It’s just you. And just me,” Minseok jumps to point out. “Don’t get too cocky there.”

“If you’re gonna be like that, let me at least thank you. You saved my life, so you’re stuck with me now.” Jongdae declares it firmly, like it’s a truth, before folding his bandaged arms across his chest and smiling gratuitously. “And either way, it’s good to not see you be grumpy. What were you even mad about this morning?”

Minseok swallows. “You,” he says.

“Wow, it’s like a blast from the past! Back to being angry, I see!”

“You’re terrible.”

Jongdae’s lip curls. He catches Minseok’s wrist when he shuffles off the bed, pulling him back, and Minseok swears, but he’s smiling.

They stand there for a while, silently glancing at each other, before Jongdae tugs him in for a kiss.

Nobody’s more surprised than Minseok is, by the fact that he actually reciprocates it.

* * *

He’s knocked breathless. Leaning onto the bed, practically sprawled into Jongdae’s lap as the fucker sits cross legged in a pool of covers, hair and uniform equally mussed, with his mouth on top of Minseok’s; he has to do a double take for a second when they pull away to breathe. Then a triple take. Followed by a quadruple take where Minseok’s pretty sure the only thing he needs to take is anti-psychotic meds, because nobody kisses their rivals. Nobody kisses their infuriating coworker like it’s the end of the world, and nobody willingly wants to stay around Jongdae for longer than practical.

Nobody kisses their rival, and actually enjoys it. Jongdae has no right to run his hand through his hair like that, no matter how soothing it might be when their mouths collide. Twice. Minseok is under no obligation to feel his insides churn when the guy has the nerve to smile into the kiss, his lips parting to elicit a sweet laugh that chimes in the air. He draws his face back, because it’s so stupid and shitty at once, and he possibly hates Jongdae even more for doing this, although he’s not even sure what they’re doing, and why he hates it.

He feels a little sick. A little breathless too, as a thrill sparks up his spine.

“What’s wrong?” Jongdae asks, gaze softening. His teasing grin melts into concern the longer Minseok tries to collect his thoughts, each coherent insult he has to hurl slipping out of his grasp like butter. His head is spinning fervently without any regard to the situation, and he’s just standing there, thinking furiously with one leg on the ground, the other still on the bed, wrist trapped in a set of slender, scraped up fingers; Minseok remembers Jongdae’s hands had always been small, even smaller than delicate Joohyun’s, and if he were to choose to make a run for the hills, bury himself in a ditch to fake his death and move to an entirely different camp, the easiest part would be to slip out of Jongdae’s weak grip.

He doesn’t linger on the thought for long. He shelves them away for later, more like, because Minseok’s coming to terms that it’s actually nice, a word he’d never thought he’d use to describe an action done by Jongdae, who currently waves his hands frantically, trying to get Minseok’s attention.

“Did I offend you? Minseok, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“Good, because I thought you were gonna punch me for a second,” Jongdae mumbles, almost shyly, and so utterly, completely out of character it’s unfathomable. “So,” he says nonchalantly, picking at the bedspread as Minseok stares. “We did that.” Particular emphasis on that, with crisp pronunciation, followed by a bashful drop of the eyes.

“We did that.”

“Right. We did that, and I hope you don’t hate me now for it.”

“I’ve always hated you.”

It’s the truth, and Minseok says it. Oh, he really hates Jongdae. Hate’s a warped, indefinite feeling this time around though, when he crawls forth, pushing Jongdae’s wounded, and very obviously surprised form backwards, and drawing out another line of mewled out words in shock.

“It hurts,” Jongdae tells him with a frown, rubbing where his head clips against the wall as he’s maneuvered onto his back.

Minseok decides the only proper response to that is to kiss him again, this time even harder. He channels the residual anger in his blood and Jongdae’s humming under him, humming casually as he slips a hand under Minseok’s shirt, fingers creeping over skin as the other arm stretches around to slide into Minseok’s hair like a gentle caress.

“Ah fuck.”

It’s almost too hard to pretend he doesn’t enjoy it, so Minseok lets himself fall, inhibitions loosening as his demeanor gives away what he’s really feeling. The kissing takes a while, not that he minds letting his mouth go pliant against Jongdae’s, swollen pink with all the affection bitten and sucked onto his lips.

It’s mesmerizing, the first push of Jongdae’s tongue into his mouth, and Minseok responds with a gentle groan, pushing their faces together until their noses brush. The hold Jongdae has on his hair stiffens, and his good leg; well really, neither of them are good; bends up into the air.

“You can’t move,” Minseok realizes, breaking away to Jongdae’s flippant annoyance. He shifts, making ample space as to not touch the sprain on his co-counselor’s ankle. “You can barely move at all without hurting yourself. Your...”

“Do you think I care?” is the icy response returned. Jongdae’s lower lip curls, jutting into a pout as he grabs the collar of Minseok’s camp uniform impulsively, pulling him by the fabric of his shirt. “You think I think about anything else but you, when I see you?” he whispers. “You think our rivalry is just some joke, don't you? It’s funny, sure, but I don’t care how I do it, I just want to get close to you. Do you know how distracting it is to see you walk around and not pay me any attention but the negative kind?” Jongdae huffs.

“Holy shit...what in the world would make you think pissing me off to get in my pants would be a good idea? For four years straight, too! Are you fucking dull?”

“Are you seriously chastising me right now? For real?”

“Well, yes,” Minseok says, exasperated. He withdraws himself to an unoccupied corner of the bed, bending his legs to sit on his heels, and observes as Jongdae jolts up unhappily, muttering curses. “I am chastising you, because you’re stupid, and hopeless.”

“Stupid and hopeless,” Jongdae parrots. “Yeah, I admit I’m stupidly and hopelessly attracted to you, and I thought I had a chance there, for two seconds. Are you gonna wring my heart out now and go back to insulting me? Because we were fine just a minute ago!”

Minseok staggers. “Shut up.”

Two brows lift in his direction. “Make me.”

“I can’t make you do anything. You never listen to me.”

“You can,” Jongdae says. He pulls off his shirt, wincing as the fabric slips past chafed skin, and discards the uniform on the ground, smirking. “How about this?”

He startles when Minseok leans forth suddenly, face practically prodding into an invasion of personal speech, but any protests Jongdae might have dissipate when he’s captured into another kiss.

“Take it all off, then,” Minseok all but growls against him, followed by laughter at the eagerness with which his own shirt is lifted off his body by Jongdae’s trembling fingers. Cool air pricks at Minseok’s back, turning warm as he falls forth onto the bed on top of Jongdae, the warm weight underneath him shifting with each kiss they exchange, murmuring and biting and sucking on already sensitive lips.

They pull away after a while, flushes creeping up both of their necks. Taking advantage of the lack of impeding clothing, Jongdae’s hands sweep past Minseok’s chest, drawing trails of goosebumps across previously supple skin. There’s a moment held in limbo, where they simply stare at each other fervorously, suppressed desire, and a little fury burning through dark eyes locked together in a fierce exchange of gazes.

It shatters into dust when Minseok rocks forth on his knees to mouth a path down the side of Jongdae’s neck, met by appreciative moaning. In response, he daringly moves down even further, nipping Jongdae’s collarbones a rosy pink, splashing colors that join the welts and scratches already present on Jongdae’s chest.

He’s so pleased at the reaction he’s able to elicit that Minseok even hides his startle when a bloodcurdling shriek permeates the air, scaring him so much his bones practically shake.

“Hey! You’re crushing my leg!”

Minseok’s forced to shift a few inches to the left, and pretend he’s coughing, not hiding his laugh behind his hand as Jongdae whines in agony. After the bandage is replaced, and the sprained ankle is checked upon to the conclusion that it’s luckily not too damaged, he continues planting kisses along his Jongdae’s torso, feeding off the receptive groans coming from underneath him when Minseok tilts his head to deliver a gentle suck to a bud on Jongdae’s chest.

Jongdae sighs, breath fluttering as Minseok blows cold air out of perfectly puckered lips, tingling erupting across his skin. He shivers and gulps when two warm hands rake downwards, sweeping from his shoulders to grab the waistband of his pants. Minseok cups his sides, squeezing Jongdae’s slender waist affirmatively with each moan that escapes from Jongdae’s throat into the room, and drawing out more in return.

Like second nature, Jongdae’s hands settle down on Minseok’s back, nails digging crescents into flesh as he writhes, gentle grazes of the teeth being applied across his torso. It’s distractingly hot, ticklish too, and he traps his bottom lip between his teeth to prevent from crying out as Minseok hovers over him, working his body lavishly. Gently, Jongdae shifts his arm, entwining his hand to fill the gaps of his fingers with slightly mussed hair, tugging at the locks on Minseok’s head rough enough to make him wince and stop whatever regretful thing he’s doing.

At that, Minseok looks up, a grin spreading across his face, and Jongdae has no choice but to yank him down, teeth knocking together as their lips connect arduously this time, kissing him hard. The slide of Jongdae’s tongue into his mouth has Minseok groaning again, hips canting down to roll against the receptive body beneath him, Jongdae’s fingers occupied with dancing backwards to slip down the pockets of his pants and pat what’s underneath playfully.

Immediately, Minseok breaks the kiss, letting himself be handled without protest as Jongdae shimmies off whatever clothing remains, unwrapping him with too much excitement it’s almost endearing to witness. He kneels on the bed, clad only in boxers, eyes watching intently as Jongdae struggles to pull his own clothing off, shifting the bandage on his knee before he’s able to rid himself of the unwanted garment and toss it to the side.

Minseok lets him touch. He lets Jongdae run a finger down him, taking in each inch of skin, past ripples of muscle hardened by camp labour and years of swimming, hiking, and leading the kids in archery, hearts in Jongdae’s eyes as he does so. He touches too; Jongdae’s more lean, but far from wiry, firm and slightly bashful as Minseok slides a hand down his side, caressing him.

“You’re drooling,” Minseok tells him playfully, and he’s struck by how Jongdae actually checks.

The bed rattles as Minseok shifts his weight to straddle him, cupping Jongdae’s jaw in one hand, and running a thumb down his cheekbone, eyelashes fluttering as his chest rises, then falls, trying to pull himself together. They breathe in sync, a collective exhale passing through the room.

“What do you want?” Minseok asks.

“You sound like a fast food restaurant worker,” Jongdae snorts, protesting when Minseok grabs a pillow from underneath him in retaliation, smacking him in the side of the face. “I’ll take a combo of whatever you have to offer.”

“You’re lucky I don’t have a knife stashed under the bed or something to stab you in the throat with,” Minseok gripes, feeling his face burn as he puts the makeshift weapon down.

Jongdae hardly responds, giggling musically as he arches upwards, lifting his hips impatiently. “I’ve got a gorgeous guy in bed with me, and he’s really gonna torture me like this, huh?”

“Maybe…” Minseok says, crawling on top of him. “I could say the same for you. We should totally stop right now,” he says sarcastically to a frustrated wail, “and we should just cuddle. How about that?”

“I say no,” Jongdae murmurs, touching Minseok’s cheek and giving it a fond pat. “The goodies are under the bed. In a box.”

“No wonder you’ve been making all sorts of noises at night.”

“I don’t want to know what that means, so I’m glad I don’t understand those implications.”

Ignoring him with a meaningful smirk, Minseok bends forth, chin brushing against the firm expanse of Jongdae’s stomach, flattening himself down to kiss the indentation in his hip. Jongdae goes without difficulty as marks begin blotting across his legs, lying prone on top of the bed, occasionally canting up at the air with poorly concealed frustration as he clutches the bedsheets. It’s enough teasing for him to handle.

He seizes Minseok inelegantly when he rises, clamping a hand on the bend of his knee and sliding himself downwards to audible startling. With Minseok’s cock bobbing above him, half stiffened and hanging into his face, it’s a bit hard for Jongdae to ignore the natural, presumed course of action.

Instantly, Minseok’s underwear is shimmied down and hooked between his thighs. Leaving a kiss on the bend of his body, Jongdae arches his neck up, craning his head upwards to line himself up and lick Minseok’s slit, earning a sharp hiss.

It’s a bit harder to get acquaintanced with the upside down world, but gravity’s working on his side.

He takes a moment to pause, smiling around the weight in his mouth, before engulfing it whole, to another muffled sob.

“Fuck,” Minseok cries, throwing his head back. He’s propped up on all fours above Jongdae as the latter laves and sucks properly at wet skin, tongue flicking around and Minseok moans wantonly in response to his efforts, a guttural sound straight from the back of his throat.

Jongdae takes his time. He goes at an excruciating pace, sliding over Minseok’s shaft with care, before angling his head and pushing the crown of Minseok’s cock down the back of his throat, to a choked out sob.

Lips stretched around, he pops off and withdraws gently, dampness collecting at the corners of his mouth as he admires the way Minseok stands half mast, a whole body flush of shame overtaking him as Jongdae’s eyes drink up the sight above him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, stroking muscled calves flecked with dried blood as he goes down; rather, up, once again, feeling Minseok arch in the space between Jongdae’s head and his own hips, pearlescent slick collecting in the soft, warm space between his thighs. As Jongdae returns his mouth to graze along the length, tongue flicking out gently, Minseok’s limbs begin to shake, the arms propping him up giving the barest of trembles.

It takes a few awkward, fumbling tries to fit the entirety of the length down his mouth and into his throat, which requires flexibility Jongdae doesn’t have. Nose pushed into the hard ridge of bone on Minseok’s pelvis as he bottoms out in Jongdae’s mouth, Jongdae inhales the scent of soap and then starts worrying his neck might cramp when Minseok starts bucking downwards gently, spine curving into a beautiful line as he shakes and shudders out his pleasure.

“I won’t last,” Minseok pants above him, and Jongdae hollows his cheeks to pull off suddenly, directing his attention further downwards to plant licks to Minseok’s bobbing sac. Busying himself with moving against sensitive skin, Minseok’s the one choking, not Jongdae surprisingly, as he mouths against his balls, sucking softly.

A few iterations of Jongdae’s name spring from Minseok’s mouth desperately as he tries to get a hold, cock twitching slightly as his fists bunch up the sheets into wrinkles. Laughing, Jongdae takes him in one fist, inhaling a sharp breath when Minseok fucks into his hand.

“Enjoying this?” he asks sweetly, batting his eyelashes.

“You’re going to kill me, or give me a heart attack at the very least,” Minseok replies to the wall acidically, a thin sheen of perspiration making him glow in the dimness of the room. It takes an embarrassingly long time for Jongdae to move himself up the bed, sliding on his back like a sad, limp seal until his back crashes against the headboard.

“Let me make you come,” he says finally, when he’s sitting upright.

“Likewise.” Minseok’s eyes flare up captivatingly, shooting beams of liquid fire. One leg outstretched over the edge of the mattress, he lets the boxers slide off him in a linear path, dropping to the ground limply, Jongdae’s eyes pinned onto him as he watches.

Leaning back on a placed pillow as an invitation, Minseok parts his legs in an exaggerated motion to lounge on the foot of the bed, spreading himself as he snakes a hand to the ground, reaching under to retrieve a small tube.

“That’s poison ivy lotion,” Jongdae snickers.

“Shit.”

He comes back with the right one, a half opened squeeze bottle that pops off with a sticky sound. Minseok opens the cap dexterously, slicking up his fingers in the clear gel pooling at the top of the plastic nozzle and then grinning as Jongdae looks on intently.

Grasping the tube in one hand, the other finger swerves between his legs; Jongdae’s about to part himself, before he hears a shudder, Minseok’s head thrown back to expose the column of his neck, throat bobbing up and down as a finger disappears inside him, pushing into the second knuckle.

Arousal sparks in Jongdae’s spine, and they moan together as Minseok opens himself up, sliding in a second digit alongside the first and thrusting them in, followed by a tentative third. Eyes hooded while he works, cock flushed pink between while he pushes himself downwards on arched fingers, he shakes, and then lets out a slight cry. Withdrawing his hand with a breathy exhale, Minseok leans off to the side to exchange the bottle for a thin package of foil.

He kisses Jongdae in time with crawling into his lap, straddling his sides and listening to his slowed breathing. “Relax,” Minseok tells him, whispering the word as he buries his face into Jongdae’s neck, stroking down his shoulder to the crook of his elbow.

“You’re clever for this,” Jongdae says, wiggling his toes. “Keeps the leg out of the way.”

“If I’m clever enough,” Minseok replies, putting a finger against Jongdae’s mouth to shush him, and then replacing it with his lips, “you won’t be talking soon.” He looks down, reaching for Jongdae’s length, returning some semblance of function back to his senses. It’s pressed against his thigh, gleaming and hard, slipping into Minseok’s hand easily as he grabs him in one smooth stroke.

With a good grip, Minseok slides his hand down, pumping slowly, and Jongdae lets out a full body shudder, tossing his head back to let another curse fall from his lips. Smearing his fingers on the bed sheet, Minseok lets go, swallowing hard.

“Dae,” he says quietly.

“I’m right here.”

“Please.” Tearing off the wrapper with his teeth, Minseok takes Jongdae in hand again, rolling the condom down in a single motion. He pulls himself upwards afterwards, Jongdae’s head snapping to follow his movements as Minseok trembles adorably, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he aligns. There’s a bit of a grapple where they collide ungracefully, shoulders smacking into chins, untangling limbs.

They both moan as Minseok sinks down, the slide impossibly smooth. Instinctively, Jongdae’s hands run over his hips, steadying him as their breathing melds together, Minseok’s arms winding around his neck in return. He’s got a beauty draped over him, and his cock pulsates against the constricting heat, twitching as Minseok lets out a whine.

“You okay?” Jongdae asks softly, pressing sore lips to the side of his cheek.

“Yeah. Feels good,” Minseok says under his breath, clenching, and then mustering a wrecked laugh to counter Jongdae’s sudden gasp when he grinds into his lap. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“Take as long as you need,” Jongdae purrs, sucking a bloom below the skin of his sternum. “I’m here. I want this.”

“Fuck. Have me,” Minseok sighs. “You have me, completely.” He swivels, hips gyrating to trace a pattern, and Jongdae’s voice sings out gorgeously, half lidded eyes hidden beneath luxuriously long eyelashes.

His hold only tightens when Minseok lifts up, dropping himself back down only to push out another groan as Jongdae’s cock disappears inside him. It’s all so easy and perfect, the flush that dances across Minseok’s cheeks as he rises and falls, bouncing with vigor as his chest ebbs.

It’s so much better this way, no mutual, hurled insults, no side eyed glances to convey seething annoyance. For a second, when he’s not nearly and completely distracted by the beautifully debauched figure under him, Minseok wonders what his coworkers would think; if the whole camp could see them now, him fucking himself while speared open on Jongdae, before reddening at the scenario that plays out in his head.

Senses reeling into overdrive, Jongdae grabs the pillows as he keens, Minseok continuing on mercilessly, riding him with the swift, hard rhythm that has his hips sliding out to the tip before slamming back down to shake the entire bed. It’s too much, and he finds himself being edged to the brink of ruin so quickly, sparks jumping in his gut with each striking sound of skin against skin as Minseok takes him in over and over desperately.

Every word Jongdae possibly has to say catches in his throat, and Minseok has the nerve to poke fun at that.

“Cat got your tongue?” he’s suddenly asked by a very obviously wrecked voice, trying it’s best to sound teasing. He’s sure Minseok can feel it by now, their arousals, both hot and hard, both of their bodies glittering with perspiration.

“I’ll come,” Jongdae threatens back, met by a shaky giggle, and his words nearly being carried out as Minseok clenches twice, knocking the residual breath out of his poor lungs. The friction drags out, and for a moment, Jongdae forgets to breathe, blaringly dizzy from lust and a lack of oxygen. He can only focus on Minseok, what he wants, and how to give it to him, and he rolls his hips instinctively to meet Minseok halfway as he undulates, adding a thrust into each motion just to hear the perfectly pitched whimpers spill from his parted, plush lips.

Boldly, Jongdae even reaches for Minseok’s cock, stringing precome messily across the space between their torsos, and strokes sensitive, slippery flesh in the warmth of his hand, watching tears of pleasure spring to Minseok’s eyes. Everything spins, it’s so, so much, but not enough at once.

“Wait,” Jongdae says out of nowhere. He manages to rock himself forwards, pain shooting up his leg as he does so, followed by a slight cloud of confusion that pops the enveloping atmosphere of lust. Minseok’s movements slow, faltering to a complete stop and he stills, blinking away water and lust from his glazed over eyes. Mouth open to ask, and bows furrowed, a squeal is all that comes out of him as Jongdae handles him onto the bed, back first, for a proper fuck.

Or rather, doesn’t. Because he gets stuck halfway.

“The fucking leg,” Jongdae growls. It’s exceedingly painful to move, taking five eternities to bend, and another ten to shift his position from sitting to kneeling. He winces and pulls out as his weight is transferred onto two scraped knees, but Minseok waits patiently, his neglected cock hanging out as a glaring reminder of the situation.

“Dumbass,” he derides, strangely affectionate when Jongdae hisses in pain in front of him. “Be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt anymore.”

“Too fucking late for that, isn’t it?” Jongdae gripes back. He gasps wickedly, Minseok reaching out to take and drag the crown of his cock, pushing it around the rim of his fluttering hole. It eats up at Jongdae’s self control not to just rub up against that shapely, soft ass, slip inside so easily.

They groan together when he pushes in again, so slowly he’s able to hear Minseok inhale. Three times. Jongdae’s hips come to a rest, and they wait as Minseok adjusts, Jongdae rubbing up and down the tense ripple of muscle across his stomach as he’s buried to the hilt, straining to exchange kisses on much overused lips.

“You’re amazing,” Minseok pants, running his thumb across Jongdae’s lip as Jongdae leans over him, mind growing hazy with each passing second. “Fuck me already.”

Minseok’s spine arches with the first slide of Jongdae inside him, hips delivering a rough punch. The second reels back even harder, falling into a pattern of firm, perfectly unforgiving strokes, hips hammering away to fuck him into the mattress just as he wants.

Their bodies move as one, hands slipping into hair, grasping onto sheets, Minseok’s hips rising up from the bed in a lovely curve and meeting Jongdae downwards between each thrust, canting for more, and even more as one leg is pushed up and hugged against his own chest, Jongdae exalted, and working at the new angle, so much harder and deeper.

He pounds steadily, calculated movements making sure to land where he knows Minseok’s most sensitive, leaving him writhing and spasming on the bed. The sight is carnal, turbulent noises escaping a gloriously wanton body splayed before him, and Jongdae takes the opportunity, sinking fingers into hips, doubling his thrusts, and doubling the pitch of Minseok’s cries with it.

“Shit,” Minseok groans, legs shaking. “I’m so fucking close Dae, are you?”

Jongdae’s reply to that is to move even harder, cock throbbing even as he gets off, taking in the sight of Minseok lost to pleasure in front of him, hair slightly dampened and tousled with sweat as his eyes roll back into his head, body vulnerable and open, cock jumping alive between his legs, so, so needing release. He’s worlds away from the pious counselor and Jongdae can’t help but relish that only he’s able to take Minseok apart, watch him melt and moan out pleasure, skin crawling with fire and sin as he slurs out something that sounds like a curse, and then a name.

“I’ve been fucking waiting,” Jongdae growls, grabbing Minseok’s hips and thrusting into him so roughly the bed crashes against the wall. Minseok sobs, tensing, legs wrapping around Jongdae’s waist, and he no longer cares about the bandage chafing his leg to the point of bleeding, all he wants is to chase release, edge the man in his arms to deserved ecstasy.

They rush to the end together, Jongdae doing his very best to quell the wave of pleasure bubbling up inside him as he moves inside, and Minseok follows every one of his movements, body completely flushed, lips curved up into a blissful smile as he pants into the air, come leaking out of him with every stroke.

Jongdae’s on the verge of collapse as he persists, pace frantic and insistent, keeping up the pattern with stuttering hips until he’s pulled down demandingly.

“I want to kiss you before I finish,” Minseok tells him, and Jongdae can tell how close he is, probably wanting it more than he does himself if it’s possible, by the desperate lilt in Minseok’s voice, eyes watery with tears of unadulterated pleasure. Their mouths join together, filthy and so fucking hot, it edges the two of them at once, and they both come hard.

Spend lands on the bed, spattering against bitten skin in a grand finale as their orgasms burn and crest over simultaneously, pulling the two of them into euphoria with choked out moans of the other’s name.

And then, everything turns fuzzy. They lie there for a moment, limboing as they chase satiation and the after-sex high, until Minseok shifts his hips, sliding them apart and Jongdae feels his cock go soft, one arm outstretched to reach for the wastebasket by the side of the bed. His hands stick with nearly half a dozen bodily fluids as he does a poor attempt at cleaning up.

“You think Joohyun will let us use the washing machine if we ask nicely?” Minseok hums, rolling over. He tips forwards, crushing Jongdae into the mattress, a warm weight curling up on his bare chest. Even now, with a clear head, Jongdae can’t help but admire how lovely Minseok looks, flushed and smiley, and one hand snakes up comfortably to brush hair from his eyes, feeling Minseok preen under his touch.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asks absentmindedly, while leaning up to supplant more kisses to the corner of an unamused, but receptive mouth.

“Joohyun? Or how we’re gonna explain away the laundry?”

“Maybe you’re just purposely annoying me now,” Jongdae scoffs snidely. “I meant about us. The two of us.” He pauses in thought. “Nothing changes, right? Or, unless it does. How do you plan to ignore and insult me now?”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“If I had known it was gonna be this easy to win you over, I would’ve broken my leg long ago,” Jongdae snorts. He bends his head, lips brushing against the shell of Minseok’s ear. “Which, by the way, you’re sitting on it. You’re comfy and gorgeous and all, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to turn purple.”

Reddening, Minseok shifts off of him, curling up at Jongdae’s side instead. “Perhaps it’s not easy,” he mumbles to no one in particular. “It shouldn’t be, but maybe the reason it seems like it is because I’ve felt like this for a long time.”

There’s resonant silence, before a slight snort. “So you admit you’ve been staring at my ass during swimming, and it wasn’t just my wild imagination!”

“Shut your fucking face. I’m trying to let us have a moment here,” Minseok snaps. “I like our rivalry, Jongdae. It’s comfortable. It’s secure, because you’re always there, and constantly annoying, but yes. If it’s what you want to hear, I’d like to keep you around. I’d like to have you with me.”

“Pinch me,” Jongdae says dorkily. “I must have hit my head too hard in the woods, because...holy shit.”

“I regret this already, but I’ll still make fun of you,” Minseok grumbles, unamusedly reaching for Jongdae’s hand, for comfort under the sheets. Their fingers clasp, lacing together perfectly.

“Wouldn’t expect any less, if that means I’ll get to hear those pretty moans again.”

Hiding his face behind his free hand, Minseok digs his nails into Jongdae’s palm. “I’ll probably tease you even more now.”

“I’d like that, actually. I’ve always been up to a challenge…”

“...If this is one of your kinks, I take it back.”

They bicker, lying in a pool of sweaty, messy stickiness, conversation and whispered confessions coming so easily, and for once, Minseok doesn’t even mind, letting himself be cuddled closer by Jongdae, the sheets pulled overtop them both, muffling them in warmth.

He could sink into the bed with how pleased he is, Jongdae’s sated sighing on one side of him, hugging him close in languid comfort. Minseok nods and grins and almost complains when it comes to an end, interrupted by incessant stomach grumbling, pestering and reminding them of what affairs really need to be attended to.

He gets only a kiss in apology as he’s forced to move. It’s a good kiss, Jongdae kisses like he’s enamoured with him, sending Minseok’s heart into overdrive again.

“You’re still covered in….I-I have to clean you up,” he says, stiffly throwing his legs over the edge of the bed.

“You can’t walk,” Minseok cackles. “Good luck with that then.”

“I’ll make do.” Shuffling onto his feet, Jongdae takes a single step, before tipping face first into the ground, head catching against a bedpost along the way. He goes down with a pained cry and a loud thump, rolling in agony.

“Jongdae!” Immediately, Minseok shoots up after him with the first aid kit, shaking his head in disappointment and unabashed concern as he kneels to gather the spineless counselor in his arms.

* * *

The food’s probably gone cold by the time they wipe up the blood. The gash is deep, the ominous nature of it lightened by the fact that Jongdae can’t stop giggling while Minseok frets over him with a second piece of gauze, touch gentle even as he scolds and teases, refusing to kiss the cut seeping a biohazardous red, despite an onslaught of pleas and a pout he even has to admit wins him over in the end.

The Wet Wipes they use are far from a proper shower, but do well in transpiring the stickiness from Minseok’s skin. He makes a mental note to get up early the next day and take a proper rinse in the communal washroom, with or without company, as they pluck clothing from the ground to dress and restore some facade of normalcy to themselves.

He has no qualms about going to dinner with Jongdae after that. Absolutely none as they enter, Jongdae tucked up against Minseok’s side, even though he’s a bit irked that they can’t properly hold hands due to several factors that may or may not include; his co-counselor occupied with handling a crutch to the relief of his sprained ankle, Minseok’s need to keep up this playful arch nemesis narrative, and the fact that Jongdae completely, without a doubt, looks like he’s been run over by a truck at some point throughout the day.

There’s chairs already laid out, people happily eating tonight’s sloppy smorgasbord, the sounds of spoon clanging and slurping filling the hall. Hardly anyone acknowledges the late arrivals, perhaps because there’s the beginnings of a food fight occurring to the right of the room, as Yifan throws a spoon of corn at Kyungsoo. It excludes the calm trio of women in the back keeping to themselves, who set their sights on pulling out two seats for the patrons approaching.

“You’re finally here!” Yeri cheers, digging into a loaf of oddly shaped meat. Her knife works at the plate under it while she talks. “We thought you two just vanished into the woods! Nobody’s seen you for the past two hours, and Sehun over there said he didn’t catch you two during the scavenger hunt, which is weird, because I swear it was in your schedule this morning...”

In the midst of her ramblings, Joy and Joohyun, who surround either side of Yeri nod their agreement. One of them gets up, Joohyun, with a plate so big that Minseok spends a second marvelling at how someone so tiny can eat so much food. Upon locking frantic eyes with Jongdae, she tries to grab his shoulders, arms swerving suddenly.

“What even happened? You look horrific!”

She forces him down into a chair, lips creased into a frown, and Minseok slides into the seat adjacent Jongdae’s, scooting close until their legs brush under the table. “You look even worse!”

“Joo, just drop it. They must be having a rough day,” Joy chips in, smiling widely as she chews the end of a hot dog bun slathered in ketchup. “Happens to the best of us.”

“Rough alright,” Jongdae says with a smirk.

Minseok kicks him under the table sharply. It hurts his own foot, but more importantly, Jongdae’s too occupied with hissing in pain to put more words out of his mouth.

“Your kids are rough too,” a voice calls out. It belongs to Wendy, who comes lumbering over, via way to the dessert table. A lock of her hair, the end caked in mud is tucked behind her ear, and she swipes dirt onto her forehead exhaustively as she picks out a pie tartlet, peach of course. “I can’t handle some of them. Jisung is really, really clingy,” she mouths, “and Nayeon and Jeongyeon are bitey!”

“They have their charms,” Minseok asserts, grinning and thanking Yeri as she leaves, returning with dishes in hand mounded with meat and mashed potatoes. She sets them in front of two eager, hungry faces and circles the table, coming to a stop and placing hands on the back of Jongdae’s chair.

“Let me see what that is on your forehead, okay?” She reaches for him, peeling off the fresh dressing above his brow and Jongdae winces as sharp air pierces skin, stinging the raw cut. There’s dried blood crusting the newly formed wound and gingerly, he replaces the bandage.

“It hurts like hell, but it’s not that bad, is it?”

Rubbing her chin, Joohyun voices her disagreement. “It is, Jongdae. It totally is. You might even need stitches! We should have a doctor come in, or at the very least a town medic, because this is beyond…” she takes another peek, and then retches in the air. “I'm not sure if any of us are confident enough to stitch up another human being, and even then, we don’t have sutures at all in the camp office. Maybe dental floss could work?”

Yeri turns the same green as the lime tart she bites into, stuffed into her palm by a retreating Wendy, uninserting herself from the situation to join the meatloaf slingshotting across the room. Seulgi’s there, crouching under a table as Baekhyun unleashes an onslaught of fruit punch showers over the tables, Sehun too, getting acquainted with the art of throwing gravy.

Everyone pauses for a moment, enthralled by the scene unfolding in front of their very eyes, and Yeri takes that time to chuck the rest of the dessert down her throat in lieu of a gag reflex. “Gross!” she ends up saying. “I don’t think dental floss dissolves in cuts either! That sounds like a recipe for ickiness!”

“Not more gross than this cut,” Joy shrugs, tapping her own head. “How did you even get it? I can't even think of one scenario…unless if you were cruel enough to...hurt him more, you know,” she says, smirking at Minseok, “but that even seems unlikely.”

“Dang! I feel like Sherlock now,” Yeri declares. Tapping her foot on the ground, she notches her chin in the groove between her pointer finger and thumb. “Where’s my Watson? We gotta solve this mystery together!”

“Your selections of Watson,” Joohyun says, eyeing across the room, “are all using a piece of fried ham to attack others.”

From his plate, Minseok picks up the fork, spearing a bit of food and holding it up to Jongdae’s lips. “Open sesame,” he demands, waving a hand to complete the incantation.

Jongdae raises a quizzical brow. “You’re really feeding me?” he asks, humming in happiness as he eats anyways. “I want more pepper on the next bite, Minseokkie!”

“Never call me that again, or I’ll stab your eyes out with a fork.”

Across the room, Chanyeol’s ears perk up at the interaction, and he throws a horribly exaggerated wink that somehow manages to fly by everyone else’s heads. Jongin coughs in insinuation, a crushed orange in his hand, hint sounding more like a broken rattle than anything else.

For Joy, the pin seems to drop. Her mouth twitches at the obscenely gushy display in front of her before Jongdae explains away his apparent lack of hand function, displaying the scratches and cuts on his knuckles. He’s in midbite when Yeri leans over to ask about the bruising on him, particularly his neck, and Jongdae flushes so deep, the color almost blends into his skin.

“You’re all covered in them. It looks like someone spattered berries on you.” Yeri starts, voice laced with skepticism. It’s bad timing when the collar of Jongdae’s shirt slips down the slightest, revealing the top of a magenta love bite. “Exactly how many falls did you take?”

“Slipped on the floor of the cabin.”

“You slipped on a carpeted floor,” Joohyun accuses, lifting an unconvinced brow. “You slipped on a carpeted floor, and fell exactly on that spot?”

“Neck first,” Jongdae says, laughing. His hand gives a demonstration of his presumed fall, swimming at eye level in the air before crumpling bit by bit and falling to his side. “Just like that. Multiple times too. I didn’t even know I had fallen until I was on the ground.”

“You should be more careful,” Joy says, clucking her tongue. She holds a glass of greenish juice to her mouth and sips wryly. “That’s a lot of bruises.”

“A lot…” Minseok echoes, joining in on the fun. “There’s more you can’t see still.”

“Okay!” Joy cringes, nearly spitting out her mouthful. “Way too much info now. I draw the line there. ”

“You can play connect the dots,” Yeri says, hovering a finger to trace over Jongdae’s neck, following the path of mottled colors splashed across his skin. “And Minseok, did you fall too? You have them too!”

“God!” Joohyun says. She squints in scrutiny, then sighs, deciding she’s seen enough in preparation for another one of her famously long rants. For once, it’s not a very exasperated Junmyeon on the other end.

“Minseok,” she starts, “you really do! You two have to take care of yourselves better! I send you in to feel better and you come out worse than before. What is even happening in that cabin? Really…” Joohyun says, holding up a hand before either of them can reply, “I don’t even want to know anymore. You two might not even be working all summer! You better not make me go out there and tell the kids that the reason they're not seeing their counselors is because you’re cooped up in that cabin and looking like roadkill car crash survivors. The only good part I can think of in this whole arrangement is that at least you might finally get a chance to work out your differences, and even then, that’s hardly possible!”

Inhaling sharply, her eyes flatten into slits. “This is your chance! You can finally work out your differences!” she emphasizes to a flustered Jongdae. It doesn’t help that Joohyun’s extra taken aback a few seconds later, when Minseok winks at her coyly.

“You’re reading too much into it. Just took a fall,” he says, a funny grin practically splitting his face. Under the table, Minseok slides his hand into Jongdae’s and squeezes, whispering something that sounds like “it’s alright”.

They sneak kisses when they think no one’s looking in the dining hall.

Based on the fact nobody throws up during dinner and the residual month of camp afterwards, where they prove to be sturdy enough to work alongside each other, wrangle their none-the-wiser children, and occasionally make out and argue, their little pact is overwhelmingly successful.

* * *

Minseok might actually not have the chance to miss his co-workers in lieu of coming back to camp the fifth year in a row. It just so happens at the end of summer, he ends up bringing a very certain, very persistent, and much to his chagrin, very handsome one home.

Fucking Jongdae. Instead of waiting all year to look at his unfairly endearing grin, Minseok fully intends to dote on and cherish the bearer of said dazzling smile properly in the comforts of his very own apartment. It’s one of his favourite features about his insufferable other half, sans Jongdae’s personality (apparently, it’s really not so bad when he’s not trying to be a total ass), making up for all the faults ten-fold.

His home really does feel warmer with two people around, even if the second person decided it would be a good idea to use one of Minseok’s soft cover textbooks to kill a housefly.

The book probably paled in comparison of how valuable it was to Minseok when Jongdae was the one holding it.

Unimportant piece of recycling fodder.

He’ll keep the human though. Minseok wants date nights, Gilmore Girls on the couch with someone else, feeding each other breakfast in the kitchen, hello and goodbye kisses in and out the door.

More importantly, Minseok wants to make someone, no, him, happy. Preferably, keep that sunny grin on Jongdae’s face at full power all the time, the exception being when the radiant owner is under, or on top of Minseok, or occupied with pressing kisses against Minseok’s own lips, neck, cheek, wherever it happens to land when they get a little excitable in the morning.

There’s no bloodsuckers in the flat at the very least, or coy side-eyes from co-workers who ‘knew they were a thing the moment they saw the two of them’. The armpit farts also stop...after a while.

Jongdae’s been promoted from headache-inducer to co-worker to Minseok’s boyfriend. Or maybe he can be all at once simultaneously, proven in overkill when they go back the next summer to ensuing obnoxious whoops and wolf-whistles from fifteen other counselors who are more excited about their relationship than they are themselves.

By a long shot. And really, they’re already pretty over the moon with it too. Camp Reve has never looked this good.

None of it matters much though.

Either way, Minseok’s certain he’s better with Jongdae around, and Jongdae’s even better with two functional legs.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I have too many irrelevant words to put down into this tiny little box but here we go! It's like an ending credit roll anyways, so if you've made it here, I'm impressed and thanks for reading! *virtual hug* 
> 
> Prompter: I think I went way too astray with the premise, but a frazzled soul was combing through the archive one day, and the moment I saw this one, I immediately slammed the claiming form button. I wrote this over and over again because I'm super rusty but thank you for your prompt, and I hope I did it a decent amount of justice! 
> 
> Beta: You're a gem in the hellhole that is Twitter, and if you were a concrete service I'd leave you 1000/10 stars on your Yelp page for being amazing! I owe you for dealing with my mess that was the first draft and I'm sending virtual hearts your way if you ever read this!
> 
> Fellow Participants (it's ok if I call you guys comrades, right?) - All of you were so kind, and made this whole thing not lonely. We shall triumph and struggle together, and now I just sound like a Bolshevik. But in true Communist spirit, I will send Kudos to everyone, write long comments, ravenously consume all postings and screech over your reveals!
> 
> Mods: No words, but a butt-ton of gratitude for cheering and guiding us all along. It was an experience, but I couldn't ask for a better one!
> 
> Honestly, feedback, comments, whatever you have to say, drop them like problematic potatoes because I both love and need to interact with people in this fandom!
> 
> And with that, let's now go hype up the other authors in this fest!


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